(Burning) One Hell of a Something
by define-serenity
Summary: [Sebastian/Blaine] Small-town boy Blaine Anderson grew up with romantic ideals propagated by popular movies. When he wakes up the morning of his 18th birthday with Hollywood heartthrob Sebastian Smythe's name on his wrist, his comfortable life gets turned upside down. SERIES. WIP.
1. chapter 1

**disclaimer:** without prejudice. the names of all characters contained here-in are the property of FOX and Ryan Murphy. no infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.

**characters/pairings (all):** Sebastian/Blaine, Tina, Sam, Santana, Hunter, Dottie, implied Sebastian/Adam, Cooper/Charlie Darling

**author's** **notes:** soulmates!au, written for day 7 of **Seblaine Week**: **soulmates.** inspired by _Win a Date with Tad Hamilton,_ but you don't need to see the movie to understand the story. title taken from _Burn_ by Ellie Goulding.

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><p><strong>(BURNING) ONE HELL OF A SOMETHING;;<strong>

**chapter one**

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The room smells like popcorn, sugar, and sweaty bodies forced together in close quarters, but it's part of the small movie theatre's charm. He sits comfortably encased between his two best friends, Sam and Tina, the latter clutching his arm as tightly as he clutches her hand. The movie they're watching, _If Only She Knew_, draws to an emotional close and he's not too ashamed to admit his heart thuds loud in his chest and his eyes started watering.

"He's coming back for her," Tina whispers, resting her head on his shoulder. "I know he is."

On screen the movie's lead character, Sarah, gets out of her last class of the day and walks down the hallway, books hugged close to her chest, her gaze a million miles away, melancholy and sad; he's always admired how much emotion Quinn Fabray, the actress, manages to convey with nothing but a look, something she's done masterfully throughout the entire movie. Sarah exits the building, but halts in her tracks, staring at a fixed point off screen.

Everyone in the audience knows what's coming.

Sarah stands frozen while the next shots skips to another character's feet, the music swelling and his heart races; the camera pans up ever so slowly, along jeans-clad legs and a long lean body lounging back against a red convertible. His breath hitches when the male lead's face comes into view; Sebastian Smythe, 22-year-old Hollywood actor and new star on the rise, green eyes, flawless complexion interrupted by beautiful freckles, and probably his biggest celebrity crush ever.

"What are you doing here?" Sarah asks, uncertain.

Sebastian's character, Shaun, drawls a slow sloppy smile, one that could melt anyone's heart. "You didn't think I'd let you get away, did you?"

Sarah takes a few quick steps towards Shaun and falls into his arms. "Oh Shaun, can you ever forgive me?"

"Baby, you're my soulmate," Shaun says, and the entire female audience swoons (and yeah, him too) – Tina sighs contently and unconsciously traces a finger over the inside of her left wrist. Shaun pulls Sarah close. "There's nothing to forgive."

Tina squeals and he wipes at a tear as Shaun's and Sarah's lips meet and the soundtrack takes off, the camera slowly drawing back further and further until they get a bird's eye view of the scene, credits rolling onto the bottom of the screen.

He releases a slow even breath, still caught up in the magic of the movie and the theatre, and somewhere deep down a longing he recognizes as a silly crush, but couldn't quell even if he tried. He can't help it, Sebastian Smythe was a goodlooking guy in an almost pretty sort of way, one that stood out in the slew of other hot actors just because he had this seeming charm about him whenever he got interviewed – he often stayed up late to catch livestreams of his red carpet events, all in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Sebastian, and felt this odd ache in his chest realizing Sebastian would never know him, he'd never meet him, he was as unreachable to him now as the cookie jar used to be to the hungry five-year old who had to get his brother to steal it for him.

The vestiges of a celebrity crush weren't new to him, he grew up harboring crushes on Luke Skywalker and later Han Solo, with the odd crush on Patrick Swayze in both _Ghost_ and _Dirty Dancing_, so these feelings for Sebastian weren't exactly new – there were crushes before him and there'd be plenty more after him, no doubt, unless his Mr Right was in fact so right that he'd erase any past and future fantasies about freckled and sweaty half-naked boys right out of his mind's eye.

For now, though, or maybe until midnight tonight, there's no shame in mentally undressing Sebastian Smythe to his heart's delight.

"That was beautiful," Tina hushes, her face smushed up against his shoulder; she laces their fingers together and holds his hand. "I think this was my favorite yet. It was so romantic."

"Yeah," he sighs, sinking deeper into the deceptively comfortable tip-up seat. "The story and the writing, and _the acting_."

Words fail to convey his feelings right now; ever since childhood he was quick to get sentimental over cinema visits – there's something about the dark and shared space that captivates him every time, an individual experience that's somehow communal as well. He loves getting swept up in a good plot with larger-than-life characters that interact in a fictional world. It's a fully immersive experience for him, despite Tina's intermittent comments.

"What'd you think, Sam?"

Sam doesn't say a word.

Tina sits up and takes one look at Sam, nearly giving him a heart attack when she shouts, "Samuel! Evans!" for the entire theatre to hear, which makes Sam flail up in his seat, mumbling, "Hmpf, w'asgoingon?" in a single breath, before he realizes the movie has come to an end. "Oh, thank God."

"You fell asleep?" he asks, much calmer than Tina, though he's sad Sam apparently failed to have a good time, and more than a little perturbed that Sam still feels the need to utter his dislike; if he didn't want to see the movie, he shouldn't have come.

"I don't know why you keep dragging me to this guy's movies." Sam draws a hand up and down his face to chase away any residual sleepiness. "They're all the same."

"No, they're not!" Tina exclaims, cutting him out of the conversation entirely when she reaches over and pinches Sam's arm. "Sebastian's range is amazing!"

Sam scowls at Tina while rubbing over the sore spot on his arm, and looks at him, knowing full well Tina would do anything to defend her best friend's celebrity crush, not that she particularly dislikes anything Sebastian's done. "I don't understand what you see in the guy."

Tina giggles. "His abs."

He shakes his head lovingly, sitting up between his two friends before any more bodily harm can be done. "Make fun all you want," he says. "I'm not blind, I know about his reputation. But he's an out and proud gay celebrity and he doesn't apologize for anything. I can admire that and his abs all at the same time."

Sam and Tina fall silent at that, and seemingly decide that maybe they should let him have this night; they're out celebrating his eighteenth birthday, after all.

At Breadstix they sink into their usual booth, Sandy the waitress taking their usual orders with her usual smile, but like much else in town it's familiar, which leaves pleasantly warm melancholy and nostalgia simmering in its wake, especially now that he's set to leave after the summer – he looked forward to college, but unlike Sam or Tina he never felt the overwhelming need to leave Lima. His family lived here and so did his friends, and even though his older brother Cooper was among those who couldn't wait to get out, he's grateful he'll still have Tina around at college. They never planned on attending the same college, but when they both got accepted to Brown and it offered degrees in their respective dream careers, it was an opportunity they couldn't pass up.

Their drinks arrive first, and Sam raises his glass to toast, but makes sure they're the only ones who actually hear him say, "Happy birthday, buddy," because he'd rather avoid having the entire staff singing him a song – Manny, one of the cooks, fancied himself a rockstar, but was as tone deaf as a parrot.

His actual birthday was tomorrow, but due to a lack of any other interesting things to do on a Friday night in Lima, Ohio, and tomorrow's undoubtedly life-changing news, most seventeen-year-olds decided to celebrate one day earlier. In the morning, five hours from now to be exact, he'd have someone's name on his wrist; not just anyone's, but his soulmate's. It's the single most important event in any teen's life and he'd spent his undivided attention scouring the net for that Mister Right. If his soulmate had any computer skills to speak of, that was, but who didn't this day and age? Unless he was much older than him, or, God forbid, much younger.

Most people got lucky, they found a soulmate who approximated them in age and socio-economic status but there were exceptions; his dad was nine years his mom's senior, while Charlie was several years older than Cooper – who's to say how old his soulmate would be. He imagines it's hard to have to wait for your soulmate if he's older; his father spent that time getting his college degree and earning money to provide for his future family. In the end, love transcends a great many things.

He doesn't dislike the idea of waiting, he could focus on school first and not live with the hassle of juggling that with a relationship, but patience isn't one of his greatest virtues and starting tomorrow that impatience will only grow.

There were horror stories too, people whose soulmate had died, whose soulmate moved to a different state or country or continent for whatever reason, whose soulmate was in jail or in witness protection and changed their name, whose soulmate was never found because they lived on the street and had no address, no social security number, no access to a computer or a phone or any way to reach out – steps were being taken by governments all over the world to make sure people didn't slip through the cracks, free sign-up services were offered so that someone might have some idea of certain people's whereabouts, but there were still plenty of ways for a person to get lost in the system.

The stories of those people who never got a name at eighteen scared him the most as a boy. It didn't happen often, sometimes it was a genetic anomaly that could be cured, but some saw it as a sign that the person in question was never fated into existence, that he or she shouldn't exist, that they were anomalies society couldn't account for – as a kid he used to wake up screaming, pulled from nightmares where he never got a name, his family rejected him and he ended up lost and alone in a big bad world that would never accept him. Cooper or his mom would hold him close and tell him everything would be okay, but he only started believing that the day Cooper woke up with a name etched into his wrist. If his big brother possessed the right genes to earn himself a name, then surely so did he.

So he's not too worried, any anxiety results from days and weeks and months spent anticipating the big day, when his soulmate's name would finally be revealed to him and he'd be in on the secret; he'd finally understand why Tina felt the need to run her fingers over the subtle tattoo whenever she felt happy or waxed romantic, something he still caught his parents doing when they missed their significant other; he'd feel the depth of certainty Cooper felt the day Charlie arrived at the train station in her platform shoes, standing a few inches taller than Cooper but quickly toeing them off so they'd be eye to eye – Cooper married Charlie eleven months into their relationship, a fumbling nineteen-year old barely capable of holding a job, and a stunning 5"10' brunette who'd encourage him to follow her to Hollywood where all their dreams could come true.

That kind of meeting left its mark on an impressionable nine-year-old, who'd stood on that same train platform clutching his mother's hand, finally seeing what all the fuss had been about these past few weeks in trying to get Charlie over and rearranging the house accordingly. Charlie Darling, his sister-in-law's maiden name, had kissed his forehead and snapped his picture, complemented his bowtie and smiled at him the way only Cooper had previously – like a little brother. And he fell in love with Charlie too, in a way, the way that little brothers did with girls who offered them a hand. He'd walked back to the car holding one of Cooper's and one of Charlie's hands, all the while staring up at them, marvelling at the complete lack of wariness in either their eyes.

He wants something like Cooper and Charlie have, uncomplicated and natural, their lives fell in line from the day they met, their hopes for the future similar and leading them to the same city, and even though Charlie had so far been more successful in her career than Cooper, it was coming up on their ten-year anniversary, and they were still as happy as any two people could be together. Charlie softened parts of his brother others might call vain or self-involved, while Cooper brought out a sweetness Charlie usually kept buried under her business woman exterior – he caught the two of them out on the porch swing on more than one occasion when they visited for the holidays, Charlie's legs in Cooper's lap, nibbling at his ear, Cooper whispering sweet nothings until he had Charlie shaking with laughter.

That's what he wanted, trust and intimacy paired with the love that came from being fated to someone. If Cooper The Cynic could find something like that, he's confident his own experience will be comparable. There's a reason he's called Blaine The Romantic behind his back.

"Did you really mean what you said earlier?"

He glances up from one of Tina's old Cosmos, his answer stuck around the pieces of popcorn he popped into his mouth. Sam dropped them off at Tina's because he had an early shift at the local Piggly Wiggly in the morning, but he'd sleep over because he'd much rather share his excitement with Tina than his parents; he loves his parents more than anything, but they'd researched Charlie right alongside Cooper when he got his name and barely gave him an inch of space to breathe – Tina would be all over him in the morning, but at least he'd avoid any potentially embarrassing situations.

"About Sebastian," Tina adds, joining him on the bed once she's changed into her PJs, a red tank top and matching polka-dotted bottoms.

He shrugs, swallowing before he says, "I like to think some of his reputation is exaggerated," and lies down on his stomach. He throws the magazine aside and tries not to think about it too much, he likes the idea of Sebastian as set up in his fantasies, a playboy with a soft side that shows after careful prying, a boy with his own soulmate right around the corner that would set him straight, who would make him see the value in loving one person and one person alone for the rest of his life – the tabloids can say what they want, that's the picture of Sebastian he has and they can't touch it, even if it was as big of a lie as the ones they sold.

"Cooper told me that over 50% of things you read in the tabloids is wrong, anyway."

Tina nods at that and returns her attention to the laptop perched between them at the end of the bed, playing one of their favorite Sebastian movies, _The Wild West_; the title could've used more finesse, but he never complained when Sebastian's green eyes peeked from under a genuine Stetson cowboy hat, accompanied by that cheeky grin he swears gets more perfect every time he sees it.

"He's so dreamy." Tina sighs, her chin resting in the palms of her hands, legs crossed at the ankles lifting off the bed every few seconds.

He scratches at his wrist, unsure whether or not he's imagining the slight itch right below the surface of his skin. Looking down at it there are red marks his nails left behind and no name, but it's there, waiting to reveal itself, unlocking in the specific strand of DNA that carried the soulmark sequence, and he's ready. He's so incredibly ready to find out who his soulmate is.

Tina closes a hand over his wrist. "Are you nervous?"

"Yeah," he breathes, heart beating that special rhythm of healthy nerves. "I'm going to know my soulmate's name tomorrow. That's–" He rolls onto his back, tries his best not to keep his eyes locked on his wrist for the rest of the night; that won't do anyone any good. "I've been waiting a long time for this."

"What if it's Sam?"

"It won't be Sam." He laughs. "Horrifying as the stories are, I've never heard of a straight guy being fated to a gay guy. Besides, I'm way past my crush on Sam."

Tina smiles knowingly but settles on the bed next to him, staring up at the ceiling.

His crush on Sam wasn't anything special; a few years ago, in a tailspin of teenage hormones and his first foray in underage drinking he might've realized Sam had an amazing mouth and full lips he wouldn't mind moving against his own, feel his tongue caress a wet path over his lips while the tips of his fingers mapped out Sam's abs – he'd scarcely avoided Sam noticing his pants tenting in an angle that left little to the imagination, and rushed home to wake up with the single deepest sense of shame. Only he started thinking about it, how it would be to have a boyfriend. Soulmate or not there were people who tried figuring it out before any name appeared on their wrist, and more than a few of his friends had experience with relationships. He's not sure he could stand the pain of giving his heart to someone and learning he wasn't his soulmate.

Maybe that's why crushing on a straight guy was a safe bet; he won't mourn his once-crush on Sam when the blonde receives his soulmark, he'll be happy for him and support him every step of the way.

"You know what this means, right?" Tina asks. "I can finally talk to you about Mike and _you'll know_. You'll know like everyone else does. I'm so sick of listening to Rachel going on and on about Jesse St. James and how she's headed to New York to be with him."

He turns his head. "Isn't that what you're doing with Mike?"

"Yeah, but Rachel isn't my best friend."

There are many reasons why he considers Tina his best friend, they share a lot of the same interests and have similar tastes in movies, books, sometimes even clothing; he and Sam share a love of video games and action movies, but every once in a while he needed to be able to talk about fashion or the theatre, or, as it turns out, _Sebastian Smythe_. They met in seventh grade, paired together by Miss Edwards, who taught chemistry at such a slow and boring pace he and Tina learned all about each other in the span of the forty-five minutes that followed their initial meeting – they'd been inseparable ever since. The Cohen-Changs were as used to him staying for dinner or sleeping over as his parents were to having Tina around the house; his mom called her the daughter she never had, which Cooper never thought was cute, but made Tina's eyes shine.

Tina got lucky with her soulmate; Mike Chang had known her name for a little over a year before Tina received her soulmark, but the two had quickly found each other on Facebook, posting pictures of their respective tattoos as proof. He'd marveled at the entire experience, witnessing two soulmates come together yet again, and even though he'd well past the countenance of a nine-year-old he couldn't help but stare wide-eyed and open-hearted – that's what he wanted: the initial wonderous meeting, the certainty of being exactly where he needs to be, the spark and wonder, and the undying belief that he'd never want or need anyone else, not like that.

Mike already attended college as a freshman at Brown, where he and Tina would be headed after the summer unless fate dealt him a different hand. They'd met up a few times, when Mike found the time and the funds to make the trip, but they'd been mostly long-distance for the better part of five months; neither seemed to mind, they found free time to call and Skype, slowly getting to know the other before becoming serious, and that fell in line with both their personalities. Mike came from a traditional Asian family, where the whole soulmate thing usually happened under the initial supervision of the parents on both sides – with Mike at Brown the Changs and Cohen-Changs had decided to give them room to breathe, since America generally lacked a strict adherence to any rules, and it'd benefited a paced friendship. But knowing Tina the way he does, he knows she's in love.

"It's going to be amazing, Blaine."

Up until now he's lived vicariously through Tina and Cooper, and he won't meet his soulmate tomorrow, probably not even the day after, but he's clung to this idea for so long that he could burst with it, with glee, with happiness, _with nerves_, because what if, what if, _what if_.

He rolls onto his side. "Let's talk about something else. _Anything_ else."

Tina doesn't miss a beat, "What do you think Sebastian Smythe is doing right now?" she asks, and he giggles, before they tumble into a wild fantasy of an underground blacklight rave, Sebastian's body painted in pink and green and blue dayglo, writhing on the dance floor with that special grace he possessed; he'd trace his fingers down Sebastian's neck and chest, draw closer and closer until their lips brushed together and–

He buries his face in his hands and breaks out in laughter right alongside Tina until he has to catch his breath; he could never talk to Sam about stuff like this, sometimes you have to be able to joke around about other boys, and Tina's always too happy to oblige.

They finish watching the movie over a bowl of popcorn and some rum and cokes Tina secreted away earlier, whisper crazy nonsense and laugh so hard Tina's parents need to ask them to keep it down; they crawl into bed with Tina's computer and watch some of their favorite _So You Think You Can Dance _performances, and he tries his best not to check his wrist every five seconds or so.

Finally, somehow, they both doze off.

He startles awake at seven in the morning with the odd sensation that he's forgotten something, like maybe he accidentally forgot to pack a clean set of boxers or left his toothbrush in its designated place in his own bathroom. Running his tongue over his teeth he decides it's not either of those things, but the nagging sense continues, pulses through him until finally he's awake enough to realize–

He's eighteen years old today, there's a soulmark on his wrist, he's gained something incredible in the span of a few hours sleep, a name that he's been carrying with him all this time and will finally be revealed.

Next to him, Tina tosses the sheets back, snores a short, "Hmpf," and finds a more comfortable position to sleep in.

Slowly, as if the movement could offer an escape to the thin lettering, he pushes the duvet back to release his arm. He sits up and rubs at his eyes with one hand, blinking away sleep before he even dares to take a look. This is it, the moment of truth, he'll have a stranger's name on his arm that he'll research until he has some answers, but even if he can't find him yet he'll be one step closer. One step closer to his soulmate.

He swallows hard and looks down, heart beating in his ears, eyes catching on the first and last name now permanently tattood on his wrist. A name… _a name_ _he knows_.

This can't be.

He scratches at his skin, blinks another few times, shakes his head and pinches his thigh until he's sure he's awake.

And no.

Oh. No.

_Holy shit_.

Right beneath his fingertips, in a cursive no computer model has ever managed to approximate, there's a tattoo one inch by half an inch, spelling out a name scribbled so often in the margins of his notebooks he'd recognize it by shape alone.

_Sebastian Smythe_.

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_**to be continued**_

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	2. chapter 2

**author's** **notes:** sorry to everyone who thought Blaine and Sebastian would be meeting soon (i'm really not, i enjoy dragging this out). thanks for the wonderful love and excitement, i'm really excited for this story! for any questions feel free to hit me up on tumblr or here in the comments!

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**(BURNING) ONE HELL OF A SOMETHING;;**

**chapter two**

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**(day one)**

_Sebastian Smythe_.

This can't be happening.

He pinches his thigh again until it bruises but he fails to snap out of his stupor. Somehow his dream sank its claws so deep into him conventional methods for waking up aren't working – he stumbles out of bed as quietly as he can, hoping that proper head-to-toe blood flow might help get his head in check, but the name on his wrist doesn't change, doesn't fade, doesn't disappear.

Glancing back at Tina his heart starts in a panic; his best friend's still sound asleep but he dreads the prospect of telling her what happened. She'll laugh at him, Sam will laugh at him, everyone will point their finger and accuse him of manipulating the system – _he got his celebrity crush's name to appear as his soulmark_. He swallows hard, the room spinning, and he grabs his phone before running to the bathroom. Once inside he locks the door, and sits himself down on the closed toilet to research a thing or two on his phone.

He opens Google and types in 'hysterical soulmark' with shaking hands, in case that's actually a thing and something the doctor might help him get rid of with a few pills. Unfortunately all the links lead to conspiracy websites created by the kind of crackpots he and Sam like to make fun of, while every fresh glance at the cursive penmanship inked into his skin makes him doubt his own skepticism. Because there's no way Sebastian … he shakes his head, no, it can't be, Sebastian can't be his soulmate. Maybe all his fantasies had somehow convinced his brain that he and Sebastian should be fated together and his body responded in kind. Maybe this could be fixed.

He scrolls through a few more links which fail to provide any answers – as far as the World Wide Web is concerned no one has ever presented with this type of symptom. For all its flaws, the system's pretty straightforward: the name you're granted is the name you're stuck with for the rest of your life. He sinks his face down into the palms of his hands, forcing deep even breaths into his lungs – he doesn't want to be known as the guy who was so hot for a celebrity he actually fooled his body into believing said celebrity was his soulmate; he'll be a laughingstock, the class clown, the butt of every joke.

But he won't be the victim again.

Standing up he walks over to the sink and holds his wrist under the tap, running cold water first, then incrementally dialing up the heat: could this be some kind of practical joke Sam and Tina were playing on him? Had they snuck some kind of psychotropic drug into his food last night? There was a market for drugs that made the soulmark disappear – scientists first developed it during the Cold War under the guise of offering some kind of comfort for those people who never found their soulmates; the same conspiracy crackpots he and Sam joked about claimed the drugs protected the identities and soulmates of government agents and spies.

He soaps up his wrist and scrubs at his skin with a washcloth. There aren't any drugs that can randomly make a soulmark appear though, none that he's heard of anyway. Besides, his friends wouldn't be this cruel, they understood the importance of this, it was a tradition as old as the world, tracing back to Ancient Mesopotamia, so ingrained into every single culture it was a way of life. No, Sam and Tina wouldn't do this.

So could it be? He dries off his wrist and hand and holds it up to eye level, Sebastian's name vibrating on his skin as if it has a heartbeat of its own. Could Sebastian be his soulmate? It seems impossible, it seems like a dream, a fantasy written into the pathways of his cerebellum by his own hand, but he's decidedly awake right now and his skin still reads the same name.

"Blaineydays," Tina sings right outside the door, followed by a few consecutive knocks that make his heart leap up in his chest. "What are you doing in there?"

"I'll be right out!" he calls, but doesn't move an inch. What will he tell everyone? Soulmate or not, Sebastian's name on his wrist will surprise everyone, and all the people in his life know about his crush; there are framed movie posters up on his bedroom walls, he has scrapbooks with articles, he has about a dozen image folders dedicated to Sebastian on his computer. He's read _fan fiction_ for Christ's sake. No matter how he looked at it, this will be an unmitigated disaster.

"What does it say?" Tina squeals, her feet thumping on the ground as she jumps up and down. "Blaine, you're killing me, get out of there."

He flushes the toilet even though he didn't use it, scouring the bathroom for anything that might keep the inevitable at bay for a few moments longer. Luckily he had the prudence to leave his hoodie here, and he pulls it on over his long-sleeved pajamas, all in the hopes of keeping his wrist covered no matter what wild gestures he's about to make.

He opens the door and stares Tina right in the eye, shoulders hunched and about four feet tall, his wrist weighing him down with the force of a few cinder blocks. Tina waits in trepidation as if he's about to divulge the answer to the universe and it breaks his heart that he chooses to lie to her. "It's– no one we know."

To his surprise, Tina only smiles brighter. "I'll fire up my laptop," she says, and sprints towards the end of the bed, where she deposited her laptop after their Sebastian marathon last night.

"No, Tay–"

When Tina's wide eyes question his entire existence up until then he almost blurts it out, _Sebastian Smythe is my soulmate! We're going to get married and have babies one day!_ but then the truth of it hits him all over again: how the hell will he convince anyone, his parents, his friends, _the world_, that teenage heartthrob Sebastian Smythe has been fated to him? He'll have to face cameras and reporters and Sebastian, and more than likely end up in magazines and tabloids. There's no telling how his life might change. And that all hinges on the hope that he's not in fact dreaming, or not currently slipped into a coma; maybe he ruptured a blood vessel in his brain and he floated up to heaven, there's a slew of other explanations before he has to accept that Sebastian's name has permanently etched itself into his skin.

"I'm starving," he says, even though the mere thought of food stirs nausea at the pit of his stomach.

Tina leaps up, and claps her hands together, beaming, "I'm going to make you an extra special birthday breakfast, birthday boy."

Soon they make their way downstairs to the kitchen and Tina pulls out all she needs to make blueberry pancakes, his favorite – when she promised him she'd treat him to an extensive and festive breakfast two weeks ago this isn't how he imagined he'd feel. His lies don't digest too well and his worries only make things worse; those two words on his wrist twisted him into a tiny mess, his thoughts racing faster than he can track, his heartbeat not slowing down. Thankfully Tina doesn't notice his distraction, but rattles on and on about Mike and all the double dates in their future, about attending Brown together and doing well, and being lucky enough to share that life with a soulmate. He loves Tina's unbridled enthusiasm, her unapologetic sentiment in every aspect of life and her relentless loyalty as a friend, which somewhat soothes his troubles – maybe she'll laugh, initially, but once his emotional distress becomes apparent she'll be the friend he needs.

He squeezes some oranges and makes coffee for him, tea for Tina, and it's a testament to the Cohen-Chang's willpower that they remain upstairs while they decorate the breakfast table, the scent of fresh pancakes and coffee mixing into an irresistible combination. He eats three pancakes, even manages a few smiles when texts start pouring in on his phone, two separate ones from Cooper and Charlie, begging him to change his mind and visit them this summer, Mercedes from LA as well, Marley and Sugar, even Jake and Ryder took time out of their feud to leave him a message on Facebook.

Tina presents him with a Brooks Brothers gift card for which Sugar, Artie and Sam pitched in too, and a pile of birthday cards he can decorate his room with later. The Cohen-Changs join them in the kitchen once they finish up, and let them out of doing the dishes after Tina not so subtly shoots her parents a few pointed looks.

"Come on, show me," Tina says the second they set foot in her bedroom and closes the door behind her, strategically blocking an escape to both the bathroom or back the way they came.

He tugs at his left sleeve, the hoodie falling crooked off his shoulder, Sebastian's name burning through two layers of fabric. "I don't really feel like researching yet." He grimaces. "Can't we– watch a movie or something?"

"Why are you embarrassed?" Tina asks. "I swear to God I won't tell anyone."

"It's not that."

Tina's eyes skip from his left hand back up to his eyes. "Is it Sam?"

Lord knows why Tina seems to be stuck on this idea of Sam's name appearing on his wrist – he's not in love with Sam, and he has no desire for the universe to divulge the blonde as his soulmate, not only because that would radically complicate a friendship he holds dear, not to mention Sam's sense of self. No, Sam's straight, and one day a lucky girl will be happy to find his name on her wrist.

"No, it's not Sam."

Tina makes a grab for his arm, but he takes a step back, barely maintaining his balance. "Tina, don't–"

But Tina forces him back against the bed, "Show me!" she demands.

He's necessitated to stretch his arm over his head, but it only makes Tina more tenacious as she jumps up and down. The tactic seems to work for a bit, until Tina gets tired of jumping, takes a deep breath while scowling at him, and just pushes him back onto the bed.

"Tina!" he screams as she clambers on top of him and clutches his arm close to his chest, but his wonderfully petite best friend proves much stronger than she looked – she tugs at his arm until he has no more fight left in him. Straddling him around the hips, Tina slowly pulls his arm up, peeling back his sleeve.

Her eyes go wide. "Blaine…"

Tina blinks in much the same manner he had an hour and a half ago, stroking her thumb over Sebastian's name to make sure it's not a hoax, and the silence is excruciating, Tina as lost as he felt, scrounging for answers or an explanation that might help calm his raging panic.

"How did you do this?"

"I didn't." He struggles free from under Tina and sits at the far edge of the bed. His skin itches right below Sebastian's name and he scratches at it again, as if it might yet disappear if he wished hard enough. "I couldn't have, right?"

"I don't know." Tina shrugs, hands folded neatly in her lap. "I don't think so? But– _Blaine_."

Tina pins his tattoo down with two tersely set brown eyes.

"I–" He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I know."

It's a disaster, that's what, Sebastian doesn't even know he exists, how would he let him know he's out here waiting for him? Does he show up at one of his red carpet events and hope for their eyes to cross so they could have that one magical moment that'll bind them together? He's fantasized about it, sure, the same way thousands of others have dreamed about waking up with a desired soulmark – he can't count the amount of One Direction fans who'd stood up and claimed to be Zayn Malik's or Harry Styles' soulmate, but so far they'd all turned eighteen without the tattoo of their dreams showing up on their skin. Much to their dismay.

But here he is, and if he's completely honest he never truly wanted Sebastian's name to appear anywhere on his body. He had a crush, a silly crush like there'd been before and like there'd be after.

"Well, at least you know," Tina says.

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it." Tina faces him. "Yesterday you were still worried you might have to wait to find him. But Sebastian's the one who waited all these years."

The revelation hits him like a ton of bricks.

_Of course_. There's no need to panic, Sebastian received his mark four years ago, he's known his name all that time so it's all simply a matter of getting the both of them in the same room. Then again, how would he insert himself into Sebastian's life? How do people usually go about meeting celebrities?

"Blaine?" Tina asks, a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

This will be tricky no matter what – he doesn't want to draw attention to himself by going straight to the press, that would put him in the spotlight and Sebastian might think he's out for fame and money, which couldn't be further from the truth: he wants Sebastian to see him free of any media sensation, they're two boys fated together by a higher force and that shouldn't be a spectacle, it should be special, a meeting of two souls who'd been wandering until that time, that moment where their eyes meet and it's like home was a place he'd carried with him all along – except home wasn't a place at all, but a name printed deep into his skin.

He instructs Tina to turn on her laptop after all, and they spend a good half hour researching any and all articles relating to Sebastian's soulmark. In truth he already knew the answer, celebrities are protected by agents and managers, an army of lawyers and contracts stipulating that any tabloid that snapped a picture of their soulmate's name and published it could be sued from here to high heaven, which, historically, had not ended well for the magazines in question.

Congress voted on the Soulmark Privacy Act in 1944 after the infamous Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart affair – as the story goes Bogart and Bacall met on the set of their first movie _To Have and Have Not_ and sparks flew between the two co-stars. No one thought much of it beyond the usual early Hollywood gossip; Bogart didn't have a reputation of sleeping with his leading ladies and entered his third marriage a few years previous, and Bacall was barely nineteen years old, a bright and promising career ahead of her. When one lucky photographer took a picture of the name 'Humphrey DeForest Bogart' on Bacall's wrist however, opinions divided into two camps – there were those who pitied Bogart for having to wait that long for his soulmate to walk into his life and never blamed him for trying to find happiness with others, and there were those who condemned Bogart for giving up so easily.

The whole affair tore through Hollywood like wildfire, every studio executive, manager and star got their say until politicians caught on as well – new technologies and the rising star culture were creating the need for new privacy laws, and like much else, what the stars wanted, the stars usually received. The Act passed Congress faster than any other before, and when a similar scandal arose around Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton's on-set affair, two magazines ended up going bankrupt.

Unsurprisingly, celebrity culture had the highest divorce rate in the world.

Not all celebrities bought into the privacy thing – some came out and said it, which had resulted in the most lasting relationships in Hollywood, Bacall and Bogart's included, while others, like Angelina Jolie, gave the system the middle finger by having her soulmark tattooed over before her career even took off; the world cried outrage, but that wasn't anything Jolie wasn't used to, until last year, when Brad revealed his soulmark to be Angelina's name.

Strangely, he never thought about Sebastian's soulmark until Tina mentioned it. Most people his generation grew up knowing celebrities rarely came forward or even talked about it, so there was no point in even speculating. Sebastian may well have gone on for years, flitting from one relationship to the other; he'd been linked to several celebrities since his rise to stardom – back when he was on Broadway as a teenager he had a relationship with Nick Duval, one of his co-stars who ended up marrying his soulmate Jeff Sterling; he'd had a torrid affair with Biff McIntosh, a senator's son who'd broken things off the moment the press caught wind; and last year he'd been spotted going around with Elliott 'Starchild' Gilbert, the famous rock star who'd burned through his own fair share of relationships so far.

He never heeded Sebastian's reputation, what did it matter to him what some Hollywood actor did with his private life, and it wasn't his place to judge him for that – this was celebrity culture through and through and he hadn't ever known that to be any different either. Even some of his friends had tried on other relationships; Sam dated Mercedes before she left for Los Angeles (her wrist had revealed a name unknown to any of them); Tina dated Artie for a few months but that didn't work out; and Marley had the most tragic story of them all – the eve of her eighteenth birthday she lay in Jake's arms, only to wake up with the name 'Ryder Lynn' imprinted on her skin. Jake and Ryder, friends up until that point, hadn't spoken to each other for several weeks now, and Marley stood caught in the middle, torn between what her heart felt and her body told her to feel. No one has so far dared to predict how that story would end.

So Sebastian's past didn't matter to him, he decides there and then, only his future, one he planned to be a part of before long.

But how to proceed?

"I should go talk to my parents," he says, and gets up, grabbing his overnight bag for a fresh outfit. They'll probably wonder why he hasn't called with the exciting news already, but this is something he should do face to face – he wants to see their expressions when he tells them that the boy plastered on his bedroom walls and their future son-in-law are one and the same person. Years ago, when Charlie emailed Cooper a picture of herself, his mom and dad couldn't believe Cooper's luck – at that time Charlie worked as a model and practiced photography as a hobby, two pursuits she now got paid for. His mom extolled Charlie's beauty every chance she got to anyone she came across – he wonders if she'd react the same way to Sebastian.

Tina reaches for her phone on the nightstand. "I'll call Sam."

"No, don't you dare." He snatches the phone from Tina's dainty hand before she can press a single key. "He already makes fun of us for liking Sebastian so much."

"But–"

"Tina Cohen-Chang." He grabs around both of Tina's wrists and sinks down to his knees. He doesn't want this to go any further than it needs to; he needs time to figure out how he's going to handle this whole situation and all his friends knowing won't hasten that decision. He needs a game plan, and his parents are masters at that. "Promise me you won't tell anyone until I've talked to my parents."

Tina averts her eyes, and he can practically feel her urge to tell the entire world pulsing through her body.

"_Promise me_."

Tina's mouth pulls down at the corners, signaling she's none too pleased with this, but eventually amends with a quiet, "Okay", replacing her phone on the nightstand.

Telling his parents about Sebastian feels like coming out all over again, that inevitable dread creeping into every pore as he sits his mom and dad down in the living room, claiming the small settee for himself – he rubs his hands together, his wrist covered up by the long sleeves of his shirt. The tension in the room rises as he searches for the right words, his parents holding hands while he works up the courage to share his news; he's more excited than scared at the prospect of meeting Sebastian, they're soulmates so there's nothing for him to worry about, yet he can't shake the feeling of a noose tightening slowly around his neck, ready to ensnare him at any moment.

Coming out was an added rite of passage every LGBT youngster had to go through on top of receiving his or her soulmark. With a mark appearing at eighteen there was a distinct deadline for those who were already sure of who they were, while for many others it involved a great deal of dread; a lot of people simply weren't sure until their wrists showed them the truth, and even then it didn't necessarily reveal their identities. He can't imagine what it must be like to wait for the answer to a question that's enough to give anyone a nervous breakdown.

He knew at fourteen, when he fell for Joey Walker, a boy he met playing tennis with a cute button of a nose and a lisp that started butterflies in his chest. They competed for the number one ranking in their age class throughout the year, alternating between the number one and two spot depending on how well they did in competitions, but a clear winner never arose. The first time his lips touched Joey's, right after the semi-finals against a rival club, and his heartbeat quickened, blood searing through his veins like hot lava, he knew he'd be destined to kiss boy lips for the rest of his life.

Joey and his family moved away right before his freshman year at McKinley, and they soon lost touch, but he'd discovered a part of himself so important the tiny burn of heartache didn't matter much – in the grander scheme of things he stood one step closer to his soulmate, and whether or not that turned out to be Joey he would be out there, proud and head held high, because this is who he was, who he was meant to be.

His parents took it as well as he expected, his mom smiled sadly but pulled him into a tight hug, and he never got anything other than her full support, the same way she supported him in every endeavor he undertook. His father, so similar to him when it came to expressing his deepest feelings, patted his shoulder and had tears in his eyes, but long after his confession took place he still had the exact same parents he'd always had, loving and kind, always there for him when he needed them.

Celebrities, ironically, were exempt many of these social pressures – the protection of their soulmate's name often went hand in hand with secrecy about their sexuality. Not that he believed anyone should be forced out of the closet, but the rich and famous lived in a world above the one of mere mortals, and the industry didn't encourage any teary-eyed coming out stories.

That's one of the reasons he admired Sebastian, he might hide his soulmark like many others but he never made a secret of his sexuality, coming out as gay the moment he peeked the world's interest when he played a young entrepreneur in _The Road to Success_. The world needed more celebrities like Sebastian, like Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka, Ellen and Portia, to show young people that despite the social pressure there's a future for them, that things get better in spite of what the world forces them to believe.

Once he's done talking his mom pats the spot on the couch between her and his dad, and he complies without question, yearning for some sound adult advice, anything really, so the ground beneath his feet might start feeling less like quicksand. His dad throws an arm around his shoulders and his mom holds one of his hands.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," she says, kissing his temple. "We'll figure this out."

It's not the advice he'd hoped for, but it helps free up some space in his lungs – his parents will have his back no matter what, and as soon as he calls Cooper he's sure his worries will seem futile; the soulbond is a powerful thing, something Sebastian will understand too.

His dad gets up. "I'll start making some calls," he says, but he's no sooner spoken the words or the phone rings.

He drops his head to his mom's shoulder, who cards her fingers through his hair softly, like she did often when he stayed home sick or felt sad for whatever reason – right now it offers the reassurance that he's not in this alone. He's never alone.

"Blaine, it's for you," his dad calls.

He stands up wondering who'd call him on the landline rather than his cellphone, but stands firmly nailed to the ground the moment the voice on the other end of the line speaks: "Blaine Anderson? Kim Steel, National Enquirer, how do you feel about being fated to hottie Sebastian Smythe himself?"

His heart almost gives out from shock. How the hell did the media get a hold of this so soon?

Something in the corner of his eye catches his attention, a series of flashes succeeding each other rapidly, coming from the front yard. "Just a minute," he tells _Kim Steel, National Enquirer_, and follows his parents towards the living room windows.

His dad pulls back one of the curtains, revealing a small army of journalists out on the lawn, some crews still setting up their cameras, others already excitedly reporting whatever information they'd been able to find.

Black spots dance in front of his eyes. His heart sinks to his stomach.

"_Tina_," he whispers. He should've really pushed her harder to say 'I promise' rather than settle for 'okay.'

.

.

_**to be continued**_

_._


	3. chapter 3

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**(BURNING) ONE HELL OF A SOMETHING;;**

**chapter three**

.

**(day 5)**

Passengers gather at the gate as a voice over the intercom calls out the 7am flight to Los Angeles.

The airport buzzes loud and crowded despite the early hour, though he hasn't had sufficient experience with flying to fully opine anything about the comings and goings of airport travellers. He's never flown before, his dad preferred the three-hour scenic drive to go see his grandparents to the hassle of airport security, and he finally understood why; he got here two hours ago and all he'd done was wait, queue and wait some more, and to make matters worse, the coffee here tasted closer to water. Thankfully, boarding had started.

He lingers behind, not only to say goodbye to Sam and Tina, but to take a few deep breaths before stepping on the plane. His friends had insisted on driving him to the airport; his parents couldn't get out of work on such short notice, so they'd said goodbye to him last night before bed, after he promised his mom he'd Skype them the moment he arrived at Cooper and Charlie's.

Things had developed rapidly.

Within a day of the press showing up on his lawn he received a call from Sebastian's publicist, a certain Hunter Clarington, who demanded he sent a picture of his soulmark for visual confirmation. After the tone Hunter addressed him with, most easily described as disinterested, he'd been more than a little hesitant to give the man what he asked for; he wasn't livestock being vetted for auction, he'd hoped this could've been handled discreetly and now so many people were involved already. His mom hushed his apprehension and convinced him to give Hunter what he wanted, but it didn't sit right with him. He hadn't done anything wrong, Hunter had no reason to treat him like a common criminal out to make a quick buck.

Sebastian's name appeared on his wrist no five days ago and he already felt mangled into something unrecognizable – he knew meeting Sebastian would entail a process whether the press caught on or not, but he was being made to jump through hoops like a circus monkey. When Hunter showed up on his doorstep the next day he knew it would be a good long while before his life would feel normal again.

Hunter struck him as a consummate professional, not immediately someone he'd link to Sebastian, but the man knew how to do his job – he'd stood a good few inches taller than him, brown eyes, great smile, expensive shirt and dress pants combination. In his defense, Hunter lamented the hundreds of false confessions he got from Sebastian's fans every week, and he pitied the part of the taller's job that involved travelling around the country (or the world) whenever a picture didn't provide conclusive evidence of a hoax.

His soulmark, however, that was the real deal.

"Congratulations, Mr Anderson," Hunter declared upon closer inspection of his tattoo, his wrist cupped between both of Hunter's hands. "Seems like you're the genuine article." Hunter grinned, almost haughty and smug, while his eyes harbored a secret he feared to decipher. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you."

He'd frowned at that, because surely Sebastian had been the one waiting all this time, not his publicist, and he couldn't quite figure out why Hunter felt relief.

About an hour after Hunter's departure he got a call from Sebastian's manager, a beautiful Latina by the name of Santana Lopez. He'd caught her on television many times, standing right behind Sebastian at his red carpet events. She could've easily been one of the stars herself, with her long black hair that reached halfway her back, a figure that could fill out those tight tube dresses as if she was the reason they'd been invented in the first place, and a smile to die for.

The offer she made him took him by surprise; Sebastian would pay to fly him to Los Angeles as soon as possible, and offer a place to stay if needed – he'd stood dumbfounded and stuttering, unable to believe anything his ears heard, until his mother took hold of the phone and informed Santana that Blaine could stay with his older brother and his wife.

Somehow he'd ended up here, at Columbus National Airport, about to say goodbye to his two best friends and board a plane that would take him to his soulmate – it seemed surreal, the past few days had passed in a blur of getting his suitcases in order, talking to Sam and his other friends about what happened, and mentally preparing for the trip.

"Wish me luck," he says, high-strung tension knotted between his shoulders that settled there sometime during the night, one filled with restless tossing and turning and an old nightmare resurfacing; waking up the morning of his eighteenth birthday with a wrist devoid of any name, his parents threw him out of the house and Cooper wouldn't take him in, and no matter which friend he turned to, they all shunned him. He'd woken up sweaty and still exhausted, which a hot shower managed to remedy, but weariness crept back into his bones.

His friends had been the most welcome distraction of all this morning; Tina made a mixtape for the hour-long drive, filled with all their favorite tracks and some golden oldies (Queen, mostly), and they'd sung along to each track at the top of their lungs.

Sam slaps a hand down on his shoulder. "Be careful, okay, dude?"

"What do you mean?" he asks, because something tells him Sam isn't talking about a safe flight and keeping his wallet close once he lands in LA.

Sam tracks a step towards him, close enough so his voice can drop to a whisper, "Guard your carnal treasure."

"What?" He rears back and searches Sam's eyes, appalled though not entirely surprised to hear the advice from his best friend. "Why would you say that?"

"I'm just saying," Sam says, "This is Sebastian Smythe. Don't give it up first chance you get."

"It won't be like that."

The thought alone adds to his worries. It's not a secret between the three of them that he and Tina are still virgins – Tina and Mike were waiting for the right time in their relationship to make such an important decision, and no one had ever peeked his interest in that way. He may have had a fantasy or two about Sam when he woke up in the morning and slipped his hand underneath the covers, but there had never been any serious candidates for him to even consider having sex with. Waiting for his soulmate seemed as romantic a notion as any – once he found his soulmate, he'd never want anyone else, so the thought of sharing such an intimate act with one person and one person only made the wait more than worth it.

"Alright." Sam pulls him into a hug. "Just–"

"I'll protect my carnal treasure," he concedes, if only to get Sam off this topic, though the thoughts interlink with all the other ones swimming through his head. So what if Sebastian had a reputation, he doesn't expect Sebastian to be a virgin, that wasn't a prerequisite in any relationship as far as he could tell, so why should it be in theirs? Sebastian's experience didn't mean he'd expect them to sleep together the moment the opportunity presented itself. Did he need to worry about this? Should he have packed condoms and lube, have a medical bill of health proclaiming he's disease free?

Tina throws her arms around him, a momentary distraction from a train of thought that will drive him crazy before long. "Remember everything. How he smells, but not just vaguely. I want good solid similes."

He smiles. "I will bring you similes."

Any anger he'd felt towards Tina a few days ago has dissipated – at first he'd been furious, Tina was the only one who knew the truth besides his parents, so there was no one else who could've alerted the press. She must've guessed how he felt because that same night she'd mauled her way through the army of reporters to get to his front door, verbally abusing more than one of them, and found him in his bedroom, hands in his hair.

"Tina, what did you do?" he asked, close to tears and even closer to a panic attack.

Tina rushed over to the bed and sat down beside him. "I didn't do this, I swear. Sugar guessed."

"She _guessed_? Sugar Motta guessed that Sebastian's name appeared on my wrist?"

"She came over to see you, but you'd already left," Tina said, running a soothing hand down his back that barely kept him together. "And I kept my promise. I didn't say a word about Sebastian. She kept asking me all these question, _is it someone we know_, _is it a stranger_, and I guess my face sort of–"

He jumped up. "–answered instead of your mouth?"

"The words 'Sebastian Smythe' didn't leave my lips." Tina shook her head, tears in her eyes and her hands fisting the sheets. "I didn't even nod or shake my head."

He swallowed hard, his knees weak, haunted by the thought that Sugar Motta might actually be psychic – known equally for her unbridled enthusiasm as well as her lack of any form of filter, he didn't put it past Sugar to have contact numbers for tabloids programmed into her phone. Sugar being Sugar, he understood why she saw contacting the press as the next logical step for him, it might've even been his own decision if he'd had time to think about it, but the rug got pulled from underneath his feet. His world turned upside down, and he didn't know how to tilt it right side up again.

"Bling, I would never betray you like this." Tina looked small on his medium-sized bed. "Why would I call the press? Please, Blaine, you have to believe me."

"I do. It's just–" He sighed, and plunked back down onto the bed, limbs heavy, heart in overdrive. "This is not how I imagined it would be."

Tina rested her head on his shoulder. "Wait until you meet him. Everything will fall into place."

_Everything will fall into place._

It's the thought that kept him going, that got him through the past four nights, through all the phone calls from his friends and neighbors and distant relatives. Surprisingly, it was Cooper who'd been his strongest anchor – he'd just said, "Don't worry, kiddo, if I figured it out than you sure as hell can." And maybe he shouldn't think of himself as the more grounded Anderson brother, but that reassurance had been a lifeline as much as Tina's support – if Cooper The Cynic figured out the whole soulmate thing, then so could Blaine The Romantic.

The sudden realness of it all shocked him more than anything else. His impatience notwithstanding, he'd been prepared to wait a while, slowly piece together his soulmate like a jigsaw puzzle – first the outer edges, maybe find a photo or a Facebook profile, track down his name on someone's else wrist for proof in one of the thousands of databases out there. Only then would he start on the inner area, group together colors and shapes, fill the contours piece by piece by talking from a distance if necessary, exchange emails and texts and snapchats until it all came together in a complete picture. That's how most people did it; his parents, Cooper and Charlie, Mike and Tina. Even Mr Schue, who'd had Ms Pillsbury's name tattooed on his wrist for years gave her the time and space she needed to overcome her anxiety over even showing him her soulmark.

It's almost like he's on an episode of _Blind Date_, waiting for that proverbial wall to pull back to find someone he already knew on the other side – then again, he doesn't know Sebastian all, does he? He knows the fantasy, the public image Sebastian set up in agreement with his agency and Hunter. Which would almost make it a blind date if not for the fact that he has preconceived ideas about Sebastian, about his personality, the sensitive bad boy, the player turned domestic once he found his soulmate. He'd always preferred the fantasy, Sebastian unreachable and the chance of ever meeting him next to nothing. Now he'll have to accept that some of that fantasy will get tainted, he might need to revise his opinion on Sebastian the moment they meet.

Sebastian still is an unsolved puzzle for him, all he'd been doing these past few years is color in an image without truly being able to see the lines – the Sebastian in his mind could be an entirely different one than the one he's meant to meet tomorrow. And he can't for the life of him decide if that's better. He'd hoped for a grace period, at the very least, some time to prepare, _to breathe_, before coming face to face with his soulmate, who also happens to be his celebrity crush.

He draws in another deep breath as the plane hits the tarmac in Los Angeles, his lungs constricting around a certain sense of doom. All things considered, maybe it's best he pulls off the band-aid in one fail swoop – if he keeps up his worrying, he'll keel over from oxygen deprivation before laying eyes on Sebastian.

At least Cooper and Charlie would be happy to see him – they'd been begging him to visit for a few years now, but other obligations usually kept him home, like the vacation job at Six Flags, camping trips with Sam… In truth they were all excuses not to spend that much time with his big brother. Much as he loved and looked up to Cooper, the age difference had always encouraged sibling rivalry; Cooper criticized him in every aspect of their relationship, he was the annoying kid brother he had to babysit or take to the movies because their parents were often too busy. It never helped that they had similar interests, song and dance and musical theatre, and they both had talent to spare. His mom used to say his brother was simply jealous and he had a funny way of showing that, but that never made things easier for him; she added "be the bigger man", but Cooper had made him feel like a boy his entire life, and that won't change over time – he'll always be the kid brother.

His brother's move to LA and the subsequent distance it caused put less strain on their relationship; not living under the same roof meant that whenever they talked they brought each other up to date on their lives rather than find ways to taunt the other, and a lot of the negativity seeped from their conversations. Charlie, too, made it possible for him to talk to Cooper about real things, like relationships, college, friends... Still, two weeks in close quarters with Cooper was asking for trouble, even if meant as a vacation.

Now he had little choice in the matter, and he didn't like the thought of sitting alone in some hotel room with more time to worry and stress and work himself up into frenzy. Cooper would be a perfect distraction.

He claims his baggage and proceeds outside, where he searches the crowd for any sight of his brother.

"Squirt!" Cooper's voice seems to travel through the entire hall so everyone can hear, and he cringes at the decade old nickname his brother still uses, one he loathes beyond belief – he addressed it a few times already, but it won't sink in. "Over here!"

He turns and narrowly misses Charlie elbowing Cooper in his side, his eyes drawn down to Charlie's other hand, which rests on her protruding belly. He rushes over, the sudden overload of information propelling him towards his sister-in-law. "Charlie, oh my God, you're–"

"We're pregnant!" Charlie cheers, and pulls him into a hug, one of those big tight ones that are warm and constricting at the same time, and he wished he could have at his beck and call whenever he felt sad. Somehow Charlie doted out the best hugs, even though she wasn't all too generous with them. "We wanted to surprise you."

Cooper slaps his shoulder. "You're going to be an uncle, kiddo."

He congratulates Cooper and Charlie the entire walk to the car, and on the ride home Charlie gushes about their plans to transform the guest room into a nursery. Ideally they'd get a bigger place, but for now they'd make due with what they have and see where to go from there – Charlie's all smiles and excitement, and he hasn't seen her this hyper in all the years he's known her; pregnancy suits her, but he stuck trying to picture his brother as a father. Cooper becoming a dad seems as scary a thought as leaving small children in Sugar's care, until he's reminded of those secret touches he caught Cooper exchanging with Charlie from time to time, Cooper running his index finger down Charlie's spine or down her arm, Charlie's fingers carding through Cooper's hair until his brother smiles – there's more to either of them than meets the eye, and when they're together that's strengthened. He can only imagine what secretly coded touches he and Sebastian will work out in the years to come.

Charlie makes dinner while Cooper helps him set up in the guest room, a small room with a single bed, a cupboard, a closet and a small desk, but a wonderful view of the ocean. They moved here close to eight years ago and made a lot of changes to the place over the years, mainly adding the poolside cabana, but they'd put their own touch to the place – the small cottage had a spacious living room due to the light colors, an adjoining dining area, and if you walked through the kitchen you reached the back of the house, where French doors opened up into a small garden entirely dominated by the pool. If Cooper and Charlie wanted to raise a baby here, they would do well to childproof a whole lot of their doors before his niece or nephew learns how to crawl.

"Pretty crazy, right?" Cooper says out of nowhere, settling down on the bed. "A baby."

Cooper conspicuously doesn't make it a question, and he knows his brother well enough to realize the initial question is meant to open up a conversation about something he's reluctant to discuss with Charlie – he's never seen Cooper like this though, nervous, avoiding eye contact, his hands wringing together; he thought Cooper and Charlie talked about everything without much fear of the other getting upset. Maybe he'd misjudged that.

He sits down next to his brother. "Aren't you excited?"

Cooper takes a deep breath and thinks his answer through, which tells him enough about his brother's state of mind – Cooper's not the kind of guy to second guess himself, not in his career or his personal life, so he wonders if this baby was planned.

Before Cooper can respond, however, Charlie calls them from the kitchen; Cooper jumps up and puts on a big smile, a dishearteningly good disguise for the stranger who'd sat down not half a minute ago. Cooper pretends like nothing happened all through dinner, instead he pesters him with questions about Sebastian and their plans tomorrow, and whether or not he's nervous – he barely manages to get in three bites before his esophagus stops working and that all too familiar panic sets in again. Sebastian would pick him up for lunch tomorrow, hopefully far from the prying eyes of the press, though Santana assured him that they'd been informed of the situation and she wouldn't hesitate to _sue their asses should they overstep their bounds_. He'd admired Santana choice of words, but press or no press, stress had sunk into his skin like a poison, coursed through his veins and made his blood run thick like syrup, everything moving slower yet faster at the same time.

Later that night Charlie finds him by the pool – Cooper's watching _Catfish_ on MTV and he's not worth much of anything right now, so he decided on some alone time and dip his feet into the water. It's quiet out here, the sound of the ocean a calming backdrop to a tumultuous few days. Since his birthday on Saturday he's accomplished little to nothing; he promised Tina, Sugar and Marley he'd go shopping with them to get Marley's thoughts off her own conundrum, but with a stubborn news crew camping out on his lawn he feared leaving the house.

"Hey, sport," Charlie says, and settles next to him by the pool. "'You okay?"

Growing up with three older brothers Charlie's always known how to talk to him; she can read him as easily as Sam or Tina or even his mom, despite having spent a lot less time with him.

He glances down at his wrist, Sebastian's name still hardwired into his skin, unchanged. "I'm nervous about tomorrow."

Charlie grabs his hand and pulls it into her lap. "I remember the day before I met Coop," she says. "I was meant to sleep on the train, but I couldn't stop worrying. I'd been waiting for that moment for five years and I'd fantasized about every scenario. Getting hitched to a nineteen-year old was never included."

He laughs, vividly recalling the morning of his brother's eighteenth birthday; he'd jumped up and down in an effort to catch Cooper's tattoo, but Cooper held his arm well out of his reach while he ranted to their mom about getting a new computer, because their old one wouldn't get any proper research done. At eight years old it had seemed like such a grown-up thing, receiving a soulmark, a rite of passage he didn't have access too simply because he wasn't old enough yet – it was magic, like dragons and unicorns, and one day he'd know what it felt like, it wouldn't all sound like a foreign language but he'd learn the sentence structure and tenses, find out what the expressions meant and use them himself. He'd turn perfectly bilingual at the flip of a switch.

"I kept thinking _what if he doesn't like me_, _what if I say the wrong things_, _are my clothes okay_," Charlie says, running her thumb softly over his knuckles; she's going to make a great mom. "But it worked out. It'll work out for you too. It's meant to be, after all."

Now at eighteen it still felt like a grown-up thing, he didn't feel his age, if that was even something that could be applied at specific intervals in life – he wasn't an adult, he'd never lived on his own or paid his own bills, never stood on his own two feet and now he'd add another person to the mix, someone to take care of and someone to take care of him, but still – he's never had a boyfriend, and he's never been anyone's boyfriend. What if he hasn't turned bilingual? What if he's still just a speaker of a foreign language playing at experience?

He leaves his hand in Charlie's lap, where it's more safe and secure than any other part of him right now – he wants to believe in what everyone says, _everything will fall into place_, _if you can do it you sure as hell can_, _it's meant to be_, but he hasn't felt the magic yet.

"I didn't know you and Coop were thinking about having kids," he says, reminded that the question would probably shut his brother down.

Charlie isn't Cooper though, she can act tough and professional in all the appropriate situations, but has no problem letting her guard down around the people she loves. And he's so lucky to be one of those people. "I've always wanted kids. And we're not getting any younger."

"So you both want this."

"Don't worry." Charlie squeezes his hand. "It was a mutual decision."

He nods and lets silence take hold again, listens to the ocean and the small waves his feet make in the water of the pool, and smiles to himself once the idea really sinks in – he's going to be an uncle, he'll get to dote on his niece or nephew, buy them cute little outfits and toys, spoil them rotten and teach them new things, and suddenly he can't figure out why Cooper wouldn't be excited.

"You should get some sleep," Charlie says, and pulls him close to push a kiss to his temple. "Big day tomorrow."

Hugging Charlie goodnight he heads inside, where Cooper's fallen asleep in front of the television. He puts on his PJs and reads a little before closing his eyes, but once he does sleep eludes him almost entirely; he's plagued by nightmares, the same old one where his world falls apart because his wrist doesn't show two simple words, and a new one that has him tossing and turning same as the previous nights – his legs tangle in the sheets, pillow discarded on the floor, his dream self crying out when Sebastian turns him down at the first sight of him.

He wakes up barely breathing, sheets drenched in sweat – he checks his wrist out of necessity rather than habit, but it's still there, Sebastian's name, like his name would be on Sebastian's skin. Everything will fall into place today, it's meant to be, no one can take that from him ever again.

Today could well be the first day of the rest of his life.

.

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_**to be continued**_

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	4. chapter 4

**author's** **notes:** for those asking, Charlie Darling is the photographer in **The Untitled Rachel Berry Project**, so no invention of mine.

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**(BURNING) ONE HELL OF A SOMETHING;;**

**chapter four**

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**(day 6)**

"Coffee, squirt?" is the first thing out of his brother's mouth when he settles down at the breakfast table that morning, and a vicious hiss threatens to escape him; maybe if it'd been anything else, if it'd been a repetition of some form of 'are you okay' nausea wouldn't currently be stirring at the pit of his stomach.

Today's the day, he's going to meet Sebastian, both his celebrity crush and his soulmate and he's not prepared for this – he won't know what to say, he won't understand what to feel, it'll be completely overwhelming and he'll probably end up saying the wrong things. How do people do this? How did Cooper or Charlie manage this even with the surety of meeting the person they'd spend the rest of their lives with? Because this can't be it, not the nausea or the insecurity, he should be walking on clouds, not ready to sink through the floor.

He drops his head down onto the table. "I'm going to be sick," he whines, and lies there, waiting for the distinct outlines of his body to dissipate so he can gradually disappear into the ether.

"You want us to stay home?" Charlie touches a hand to his back. "We can reschedule the ultrasound for another time."

"No, it's okay." He lifts his head to the sight of a hot cup of coffee, steam rising along the edges, and his stomach growls. Maybe he should eat something, lest he faint the moment his eyes meet Sebastian's. "I want to see a picture of my niece and nephew when I get back."

Charlie smiles at Cooper across the table, and his brother shows none of yesterday's concerns – the smile he offers Charlie in return seems soft and genuine and he can't make heads or tails of it. One minute Cooper shares Charlie's excitement and next he's freaking out, much like he's doing over Sebastian right now. He's never seen his brother's home life though, he's been privileged to sweet moments between him and Charlie whenever they visited, but time away from home can offer a break from real life. When he and Sam go camping his home life fades to the back of his mind, suddenly things like homework, school and family obligations cease to matter; and up in the green woods of Salt Fork it's easy to forget how life can get him down.

He's not a negative person, not by far, he tries to be as positive and happy as he possibly can, because life's too short to focus on the sad moments, but there are things that manage to knock him down a notch. Dave Karofsky for example, one of McKinley High's star football players, had made it his personal mission to make his high school days a living hell – it went on for months, Sam and Tina kept urging him to talk to Principal Figgins but he stood determined to talk to Dave like a human being, and not circumvent whatever problems they had by going behind his back.

He learned the hard way he often let his pride get the best of him.

Tina and Sam sheltered him from Karofsky as much as they could, walked him to and from class, made sure to keep an eye on him at all times, but even they couldn't protect him 24/7. After one locker shove too many he'd pushed back, hit Karofsky in the face the way his boxing instructor taught him, and almost gotten suspended in the process.

His parents, Mr Schue, and many of his friends were surprised to find out what had been going on – he never wanted to worry them, he kept his problems under lock and key because not everyone needed an intimate look into his life, especially not once Dave had tried to kiss him after an angry tirade on both their parts. Selfishly, he hoped to help Dave struggle through something he'd faced himself; sadly the football player never let him.

He hadn't learned much from that encounter, he still kept secrets he'd be loath to tell anyone, even his best friends – a lot of his secrets revolved around his greatest fears; ending up alone, losing the people he loved, letting his insecurities get the best of him and keep him from fully immersing himself in every experience life threw his way.

So he understands the difference between the way he sees his brother whenever he comes home and the way he can see his brother now. This is Cooper's home life, the most intimate part of it, especially now that he has a baby on the way. He wonders what his brother's afraid of, and just how deep those fears run.

"Blaine, we're leaving!" Cooper shouts from the living room while he's getting dressed. A hot shower has chased away his drowsiness, and worry blankets the nausea he felt a few hours ago. "Have a good time!"

"Yeah, okay!" he yells back, while he chews at one of his fingernails, staring out over the bed that's covered with each and every single item from his suitcase. He thought he'd decided on an outfit back home, even though he packed other options should the weather shift, but now he's none too sure about the shirt and bowtie combination. He loves his bowties, he's been wearing them for as long as he can remember, and his mom never passes up the opportunity to buy new ones, but maybe he should opt for something … more mature? He leans back against the dresser and shakes his head, unsure of what 'more mature' clothing would even look like – he doubts Sebastian would trip over him wearing a bowtie, but what if Sebastian chooses for casual chic? What if he's wearing a suit? Should he have packed a tie?

He grabs for his cellphone in a blind panic, hits speed dial, and doesn't even wait for the person on the other end to get a word in. "Tina, I'm freaking out," he says, heart bruising his ribcage. "I can't do this."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know what to wear. He'll be here in an hour and I'm still in my underwear."

"Blaine, you're having lunch with him," Tina says. "Wear something you're comfortable in."

He covers a hand over his eyes. What if he's not the boy Sebastian expects? He knows what Sebastian looks like, memorized his facial expressions and different kinds of smiles after hours and hours of watching him on screen, but Sebastian has no clue who he'll be faced with. Sebastian's constantly surrounded by perfect bodies, models, actors, even his manager and publicist are insanely good looking. What if he disappoints?

"Blaine, please, _breathe_," Tina urges. "He's your soulmate. You're having lunch, not auditioning."

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "What if he doesn't like me?"

"Blaine Anderson, the day I meet someone who doesn't like you, is the day I quit," Tina says. "Now put on some clothes, make sure you smell nice, and for God's sake, get excited! This is a big day for both of you, Bling!"

Tina's right, he's freaking out over nothing, his outfit won't matter, all he cares about is making a good first impression, meeting Sebastian, getting to know him, and for the first time in almost a week the thought fills his stomach with butterflies: his celebrity crush and soulmate are one and the same person. How many people can say that? And even though he's prepared to adjust his initial image of Sebastian, he gets the impression he already knows him in some way. It will all work out okay.

He ends up fitting together an entirely different outfit than the one he initially picked out: he goes for some looser off-white chinos, a breezier fit perfect for LA weather, and a slim fit cotton shirt with a cross square print. It's not too casual, but not too dressy either. He rolls up his sleeves, eyes catching on his tattoo every few seconds until he focuses on his own reflection.

"It's so nice to meet you, Sebastian," he says, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smile, though it looks too fake for his own taste. "It's _very_ nice to meet you, Sebastian," he tries, accompanied by a fuller smile this time, which quickly falters. That's not it either. He shakes out his limbs and rolls his shoulders, determined to stop practicing his lines and focus on the time ahead – Santana didn't mention the specifics on the phone, but Sebastian would pick him up for a late lunch, right after a costume fitting she couldn't reschedule, and Sebastian would take him to one of his favorite places to eat.

He glances at the clock: twelve o'clock. Sebastian won't be here for at least another hour.

He tidies up his room, puts all his other clothes back where they belong and sits down on the bed. Brown college brochures rest on the nightstand, but unlike the weeks preceding his birthday, it fails to distract – he's still excited to go to college, it's an experience his father told him he'd never forget and one he's more than grateful to have, but most people would understand his preoccupation with other things at the moment. He's torn between freaking out or flailing around the room or focusing on his sweaty palms – right now he can't feel too much of anything, there's too much to process and not enough time to do it. So he settles for sitting still.

At two past one, the doorbell rings.

He swallows hard and releases a slow even breath, before pocketing his wallet and phone.

There's no need to panic, it's just lunch, _he likes lunch_.

Approaching the door he's acutely aware of his entire body, the weakness in his thighs, the frantic beating of his heart, the anxiety headache starting at his temples, his mouth dry. He opens the door and looks up, drawing in a shuddery breath once reality truly sinks in. He hadn't truly believed it up until now, he expected Sebastian to be called away last minute or disappear into thin air like a ghost before physically ending up on his doorstep – yet there he stood, Sebastian Smythe, Hollywood heartthrob; tall and handsome, a soft smile forming around his lips even though he can't disguise the surprise that traces over his face.

"You must be Blaine," Sebastian says, his voice lower and huskier than he thought it would be, and it sends a shiver straight down his spine. Is that it, he wonders, is that the spark all soulmates feel when they see each other, something heavy and kind of itchy in a hot way?

Up close like this Sebastian's eyes aren't as green as the stories led him to believe – they're hazel around the irises and gradually become more green, and he's so mesmerized that rather than any of his rehearsed lines heat sinks into his cheeks and a smile forms around a shy, "Hi," before he tears his eyes away.

"Shall we?"

He blinks and the nod follows automatically, as does the locking the door and following behind Sebastian down the short driveway. Something feels off, though he can't quite put his finger on it, and he's too distracted letting his eyes wander up Sebastian's long legs to question it for long. Everything else about Sebastian seems exactly like the movies made him out to be; tall, lanky, perhaps even slimmer than he thought, broad shoulders, yet endless skinny legs. Sebastian wears a deep red V-neck shirt, skinny dress pants and a matching stylish blazer; _casual chic_, as he expected.

At the end of the driveway, where Sebastian parked his car, he halts in his tracks, eyes wide as he takes in the red Ford Mustang convertible. "Is that–" he starts, and studies the car front to rear. "That's the car from _If Only She Knew_. I watched it the day before my birthday, I loved it."

Sebastian opens the passenger door and nods with a smile. "This is the car."

"They let you keep it?"

"I let them take it out of my salary." Sebastian smirks, patiently waiting for him to settle in his seat before closing the door, rounding the car, and sinking gracefully into the driver's seat. Sebastian looks at him sideways in a way he can't decipher – it's not what it's supposed to be, a tiny voice at the back of his head whispers, but it disappears once Sebastian catches his eyes. "Seatbelt, Mr Anderson."

He fumbles in his seat for a few moments, but soon they're on their way, Sebastian weaving through LA traffic like he's been doing it for years. The wind courses through his hair and the sunlight hurts his eyes, his close proximity to Sebastian making sure his body temperature rises higher than it should. Maybe he should have opted for shorts after all.

"Here," Sebastian says, and reaches for the glove compartment blindly, unearthing an extra pair of Ray-bans. "These should help."

He takes the sunglasses gratefully. "Thanks."

"How was your flight?" Sebastian asks, steering them down a busy boulevard.

"I'm a huge fan of your work," he says, and cringes, because that's not how he intended to answer that question. "I've seen all your movies multiple times."

But if he's being too much of a fanboy Sebastian doesn't seem to mind; he smiles. "Thank you."

"My flight was–okay." He could hit himself over the head right about now, he's all over the place and his mouth's doing things he decidedly doesn't want it to do. "It wasn't very long."

"Don't be nervous," Sebastian says, no hint of annoyance to his voice. "We're just having lunch."

He squirms in his seat and wishes people would stop saying that. It's not just lunch, it's a date with the boy he'll spend the rest of his life with and that's a pretty big deal. Sebastian's a pretty big deal, celebrity or not, simply because his name tattooed itself into his skin. They're soulmates, and no matter what they had planned today, whether it was a walk in the park, a day on the beach, or a talk behind closed doors, it still would've been _a pretty damn big deal_. Why did he seem to be the only one acting like it was?

"So, are you ready?" Sebastian asks, the car slowing down to pull up to the curb.

"Ready?"

"For the circus." Sebastian smiles, and he's no sooner spoken or the car's surrounded by photographers, paparazzi and journalists, and eager fans who somehow managed to work out Sebastian's schedule.

Sebastian climbs out of the car and quickly runs for the passenger door to prevent him from being squashed by the crowd. The reporters shout questions he can't make out and even with the sunglasses the cameras flash too bright. Thankfully an arm wraps protectively around him and skillfully navigates him through the crowd, a hand settling warm and firm at the small of his back. He looks up to see Sebastian smiling, his head held high and greeting the reporters he knows – it's so clear he's used to this, but he can't imagine how.

They head inside quickly, security guards stopping the press at the door, and silence returns.

"It takes a few minutes for the spots in your eyes to go away, but trust me, they will."

He takes off the sunglasses, the rush and bustle of the past twenty minutes overwhelming and disconcerting. Will this be his life from now on?

"Is it always like that?"

Sebastian shrugs. "Pretty much."

It can't be an easy life, your every move under scrutiny, filmed, photographed, reported, and at the end of the day journalists wrote what they wanted, especially the tabloid press. Not all of Sebastian's reputation can be true, some of it has to be exaggerated, the illicit affairs, the sleeping around, the drugs and alcohol abuse … but where the truth ended and the lies started would be a conversation for later. He wants other things from Sebastian first.

Sebastian greets the maître d with a handshake and a few words in French, which catches him off guard – he had no idea Sebastian spoke any other languages. They follow behind the short mustached man, costumers left and right calling out to Sebastian. Several beautiful women at the bar leer at Sebastian like they want to eat him, but it's the men that do the same that fail to steady his footsteps. He should probably get used to the idea that other people look at Sebastian the way he did, that others were attracted to him, but the people here understood the lifestyle, knew how to act and hold themselves in different situations. All things he had yet to learn.

They sit down at a table for two. He's almost certain Sebastian orders a bottle of water, but he wishes he worked harder in his AP French class; he might be a straight A student, but Sebastian spoke fast and fluent, and if he had to guess he'd say Sebastian was perfectly bilingual. A smile skips over his lips; he likes that this is something he doesn't know about Sebastian, he has a million questions all at the tip of his tongue and the excitement flutters through his entire body.

Silence falls once they're alone again, but he allows Sebastian a few moments to empty his pockets: an iPhone, a Blackberry, a pager and his wallet, where had he hid all those?

"Do you always carry that stuff with you?"

"I have to make sure I'm never out of touch with the people who torment me."

"Santana and Hunter?"

"Among many others," Sebastian says, and finally turns his attention to him. "What was your take on Hunter?"

He frowns, but thinks back on the way Hunter treated him, the initial disinterest yet his subsequent elation had having found Sebastian's soulmate – he's not sure Hunter's the kind of person he'd get along with, he seemed pretty set in his ways with an ego to match his professionalism. What is he supposed to say? Was Sebastian testing him?

So he settles for an answer as close to the truth as he can get. "He seemed good at what he does."

"Military school," Sebastian explains, but it comes off as a joke, a means to alleviate some of the tension slowly setting between them. This should be easier, the thought flashes through his mind again, this isn't how it's supposed to be.

Luckily the maître d returns with the bottle of water and two menus for them to peruse before the thoughts can claw their way to his anxiety. Sebastian orders immediately, clearly knowing the menu by heart, but it puts him on the spot to order something quickly. As his eyes scan the page of the lunch menu, the prices listed next to every dish seem too high to be real.

"This is all really expensive."

"It's all on me," Sebastian says. "Order what you like."

He bites his lip, and goes for the first dish that catches his eye, his French coming out barely articulate. The maître d smiles knowingly, but winks, and takes the menus back with him.

He catches Sebastian's eye and blushes. "I'm not as good as you."

Sebastian shakes his head softly, "No, I'm impressed", followed by a smile that leaves him a little weak in the knees. The only easy thing about this so far is Sebastian's easygoing nature, his openness and willingness to deal with his obvious crush – before long it'll be more than that, the crush will bloom into a love deeper than words can describe, it will set in his heart like a certainty, a full stop, not a question mark.

"Where did you learn to speak French?"

Sebastian takes a sip from his water. "I was born in Paris," he says, and there must be something in his face that signals Sebastian to keep talking, because he hears all about it, how his mom was born in France and lived there her entire life, until she met his dad while he studied at Le Sorbonne. They fell in love and got married, and had him soon after. The first ten years of his life Sebastian spent half the year in Paris and the other half in New York, and mastered both languages fairly easy.

He imagines one or both of Sebastian's parents must've been pretty young when they'd met in Paris, and got lucky enough to be soulbound together in such a romantic city – he'd never travelled outside of the country, but he dreamed of Europe and its history, the culture and the architecture, the art and the food and the different languages. Maybe Sebastian would take him there someday.

"Which one do you prefer?" he asks, their food finally arriving.

"I couldn't really say." Sebastian shrugs. "I got the best of both worlds."

They start their lunch, but Sebastian keeps talking, guided by his curiosity. His father worked for a big communications mogul Sebastian doesn't fully understand the ins and outs of, but it's clear from the way he talks about his parents that they both mean a lot to him. Sebastian's mom majored in Art History, and apart from owning her own gallery in New York City, she sold her art to dealers all over the world. It's clear Sebastian inherited his creativity from his mom, who'd introduced him to the world of theatre and Broadway, and was a big reason for why he started auditioning in the first place.

"Believe it or not," Sebastian says as the waiters clear their table, "I was a pretty shy kid."

He laughs at that, because it is hard to believe, but the stage clearly gave Sebastian the confidence he needed. He'd seen Youtube videos of Sebastian's performances on Broadway – he'd been more of a dancer in various off-Broadway productions at the very beginning, before getting a more serious role in a big time Broadway production, which he'd played for several years. Once he turned eighteen Sebastian like many others took a stab at Hollywood, and turned out to be one of the lucky few that actually made it.

"Do you miss it?"

Sebastian falls silent and for a second or two he regrets asking. He doesn't want to put Sebastian on the spot, but he does wonder – the Broadway lifestyle must be starkly different than the Hollywood one.

"I do," Sebastian answers, but shrugs off his obvious unease with the question. "I try not to think about it too much. I love my job, whether it's on a stage or in front of the camera."

Something tells him it's more of a lie Sebastian sold himself than anywhere near the truth, but he decides not to push it – if Sebastian doesn't want to talk about it that's his choice, and he doesn't want to pry.

"So, Blaine Anderson." Sebastian changes gears, making no move to get up or ask for the check. They've been here for close to two hours and he wouldn't mind if this lasted until dinner. "What do you do?"

He blushes. "I just graduated. I'm going to Brown after the summer."

"He continues to impress." Sebastian smiles, any hint of unease gone.

He reminds himself Sebastian is an actor, a skilled one at that, and he must employ some of those techniques in real life too, especially when things get too heavy. At the end of the day everyone pretends to some degree, like he often pretends to be okay to his parents, like he's pretending right now that this date isn't at all going the way he thought it would. They're talking and it's amazing, but he's waiting for his entire universe to make sense.

"I'm going into education," he says, fearing what would happen should silence fall again. "To become a teacher, initially, but I'd love to go into counseling in the long term. I want to work with kids."

Sebastian casts down his eyes and stares at the table, spinning his glass between two fingers. The dreaded silence falls, and he can't decipher Sebastian's mood. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned college; Sebastian never attended, though it's become clear both his parents are highly educated – maybe it's a sore subject.

"I stopped impressing you?" he asks carefully.

"No." Sebastian laughs. "Not at all. You're just way out of my league, killer."

And despite all the self-deprecation Sebastian utters it's the nickname that catches his attention. "Killer?"

"You don't like it?

"No, I—I do," he stutters. "No one's ever called me something like that."

"Never?"

"My friend Sam calls me 'stud' sometimes, but he's just joking."

"No ex-boyfriends?"

"No."

"That's a damn shame, if you ask me."

He searches Sebastian's face for an explanation. Would Sebastian prefer if he had more experience? The comment Sam made yesterday comes to mind, _guard your carnal treasure_, but he doesn't want to think about that – his lack of sexual experience shouldn't be a deterrent.

"What do you mean?"

Sebastian leans a little closer, his features opening in amusement. "You're a catch, killer. Anyone passing up the opportunity to date you is a damn fool."

He giggles and closes his eyes in embarrassment, covering a hand over half his face. "Stop," he says softly, though his heart skips a few staunch beats. Sebastian's flirting with him, he's not even disguising it, and his stomach starts crawling with butterflies ready to burst free. It's finally here, a certainty setting stronger and stronger with each passing moment, and he thanks whatever entity in the universe assigns people their soulmate that he gets to live this, that he's allowing himself to enjoy this to the fullest, that he hasn't sabotaged anything or run for the hills because his anxiety threatens to overtake him.

He worried over nothing, Sebastian's a regular guy living an exceptional life. Fame like most other things is fleeting and Sebastian's trying to make the most of it, he's learned the rhyme and reason of Hollywood because he had to. The more they talk the more he sees it, the boy behind the man Sebastian's carefully constructed in light of his life here, still wide-eyed and marveling, bursting with more creativity than he can hold – and he gets that, that passion, that drive, so talking to Sebastian comes easy.

They decide to have desert for dinner – Sebastian orders for both of them this time and has a glass of wine to go with his cake, while talking about his next film project, which is set to film in two weeks' time. It's a romantic comedy about a smooth talking guy who never found his soulmate, so he spends his time cheating girls into his bed by replacing his tattoo with their names, and changing his identity accordingly.

He grimaces. "That sounds awful."

"Well, he's kind of a douche. The stereotypical guy in many romantic comedies."

He cups his chin in his hand. "So what's the catch?"

"He finds his soulmate. Who is everything he's always wanted in a woman."

"But he screws up?"

Sebastian nods. "And spends the rest of the movie moving heaven and earth to win her heart."

"Which he does."

"_Obviously_."

"You have a really strange job."

"I do." Sebastian laughs, and signals the waiter for the check. Grabbing his wallet Sebastian's eyes trace over his face, which almost makes him want to squirm out of his seat – no one's ever looked at him like that, with such clear interest in his life and what he has to say, and dare he say even his body. And for some reason, maybe because of the tattoo on his skin, he feels safe.

"Would you like to go back to my place for a while?" Sebastian asks. "If you're not sick of me yet, that is."

"Not at all." He faces away shyly. "I'm not ready for today to be over yet."

"Good. Neither am I."

The press is long gone as they make their way outside again, the sun slowly setting behind the horizon. The drive takes place in silence, but he soaks up the fresh breeze the darkening city offers, eyes drifting closed and his head tipping back. He's happy, there's no other way for him to describe it, he had a great lunch with one of his favorite people in the world, someone who would only gain importance in his life, and the more they talked the more comfortable they grew around each other. It's not exactly how he'd imagined, but their story isn't like most others' – their situations being what they are there was bound to be a little friction, a little awkwardness before they both realized there was no need for anxiety or fear or apprehension.

Everything will fall into place.

Half an hour later they pull up to the private gate of a house, behind which stood a carport that sheltered a black town car – Sebastian parks next to it, and helps him out of the car.

"This is where you live?"

He might've had his eyes closed for much of the drive, far too preoccupied with the body next to him to focus on where they were headed, but he's pretty sure they've made it into the Hollywood Hills, which housed many of Hollywood's rich and famous.

Sebastian grins. "Wait until you see the place."

Sebastian leads them up a short stone staircase, leading to a slightly higher level that splits two ways; on the left another short staircase leads down to the pool, a small terrace and a cabana next to it, and in the far corner of the area a path leads up into the hills; to his right, the path Sebastian takes them on, a few steps lead to a much larger terrace, right outside the main entrance to the house. His eyes widen as he takes in the floor-to-ceiling windows, and notes another floor to the house the architecture and vegetation hides skillfully. Sebastian has all the privacy he needs here, despite the openness of the house.

Sliding open the patio door, they step inside, a large open living room stretching into the kitchen.

"Are these your mom's?" he asks, pointing at the four paintings hanging in a tile pattern over a low cupboard. It shows a large bird, painted in bright colors, rising up out of the flames like a phoenix. He didn't think this would be Sebastian's style, but it's a pleasant surprise.

"She's good, isn't she?"

A small squeal sounding from the kitchen startles both of them. They turn as a short Asian girl emerges, large glasses perched on her nose, a cute bob haircut, a large day planner clutched to her chest.

Sebastian shoots forward. "What are you doing here?"

The girl closes the distance between her and Sebastian and her voice drops to a whisper, though he swears he hears the word 'Hunter' followed by 'make sure' somewhere in there.

"Of course," Sebastian answers in reply, clearly not amused by the turn of events. "Blaine, this is my personal assistant, Dottie."

The girl waves.

"Dottie, meet Blaine."

"It's so nice to meet you, sir." Dottie walks up to him with her arm outstretched, the ensuing handshake much stronger than he anticipated. She speaks with a slight lisp, but she's too cute not to like. "I've heard a lot about you."

She looks back at Sebastian over her shoulder, who's leaning back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark. Dottie lowers her head. Whatever Dottie told Sebastian, or whatever Hunter intended Dottie's presence to cause, had an adverse effect on Sebastian's mood. Sensing the tension, he decides maybe today had lasted long enough.

"I should probably head home." His voice cuts through the silence like a stranger in a group of friends, out of place and shrill. "My sister-in-law will worry if I stay out too late."

"I'll take you home."

Sebastian rushes past him like he can't get rid of Dottie fast enough, and they're back in the car on their way to Cooper's before he can blink. What could Dottie possibly have said to upset Sebastian so much? What could Hunter possibly have wanted to make sure of?

"Dottie seems nice," he says, in an effort to get Sebastian to relax a bit; his hands keep wiring around the wheel, making the leather squeak, and he's driving too fast.

"Too nice," Sebastian says. "She could do with a little backbone."

He stares down at his hands, folded together in his lap. That's about the meanest thing he's heard Sebastian say all night, and to hear it about a girl who'd seemed nice, quiet and loyal, makes him think there's a lot more to Sebastian's question about Hunter earlier today. He thinks back to what Hunter told him, _you have no idea how long I've been waiting for you_, and suddenly he can't make sense of anything anymore. Publicists dealt with an artist's public image, and given Sebastian's reputation he can understand why Hunter would be relieved to find his soulmate, but where did Dottie fit into all of this? Did Hunter honestly think Sebastian took him home to … _to sleep with him_?

_Guard your carnal treasure_, Sam's voice echoes louder and louder until it's all he can hear, because now that he has time to let it breathe, take a step back and think through the entire day, he's not entirely sure he would've resisted Sebastian had he tried to seduce him back at the house. The physical attraction was there before he'd even met Sebastian, and being close to him today only underscored how real that was, a magnetism played between them he wanted to tap into, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to feel Sebastian's lips move against his the way Joey Walker's had four years ago – he can scarcely imagine what it would be like to kiss his soulmate without getting hot all over.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian's voice sounds. "Dottie's amazing. I don't know what I'd do without her. I hate seeing people take advantage of her."

"People like Hunter?"

Sebastian parks the car. "I was hoping you hadn't heard that."

"Sorry."

"He's a pain in the ass." Sebastian sighs. "But he's really good at what he does."

He doesn't ask what Sebastian means, doesn't ask why he keeps Hunter around if he's that big an annoyance, he doesn't say how he doesn't understand any of this, because he's afraid of the answer. He wants to keep his fantasy of Sebastian intact, so far surprisingly unaltered by their encounter today – there's nothing that led him to believe Sebastian was the man the tabloids described, the player, the heartbreaker, the hop skip and a jump away from burning out. If it's all an act, if Sebastian pretends in every aspect of his life, he's not sure he wants the truth.

"You're staying with your brother?" Sebastian asks.

"Yeah. It's my first time visiting."

"Two birds in one stone."

Sebastian gets out of the car and helps him out, while he wonders what Sebastian's hoping to get out of all this. Because seeing Sebastian was nowhere near as trifle as visiting a family member. Cooper and Charlie visit at Christmas or Thanksgiving, they came to his graduation, they stay in touch through email or Facebook. But the whole point of seeing Sebastian wasn't to visit his brother too, no, it was the start of something lasting, a foundation for their relationship, maybe even their _marriage_ one day.

He hates to think why Sebastian feels the need to make this out to be something casual, he hurts coming up with all the reasons why Sebastian might be protective of his heart, built walls around it so he won't have to deal with heartbreak. This might be tougher than he thought it would be.

"Can I just–" Sebastian starts, and reaches for his wrist, slowly turning it around so he can see his name printed on his skin. "Well, I'll be damned."

Sebastian's fingers run over his wrist and he shivers, struck by the odd sensation that Sebastian's as insecure about all this than he is.

"What did Hunter mean when he said he'd been waiting for me?"

A laugh escapes Sebastian and he releases his wrist, scratching the back of his head. "Some of my reputation is exaggerated. Some of it isn't. Let's say Hunter's job just became easier."

He still doesn't understand what it all means, how many affairs or one-night stands has Hunter covered up for Sebastian?

"I'm sorry," Sebastian says, "I didn't meant to–"

"It's okay," he hushes. "I read the tabloids."

Only he doesn't, does he? He always ignored them in favor of preserving his dream man, a perfect Sebastian, now ever so slowly unraveling in front of him. He made himself a promise though, he wouldn't let Sebastian's past hinder their relationship, how could he let it when this was meant to be? Their story's different than other people's stories, it won't be like Tina and Mike's or Cooper and Charlie's, but it'll be one of their own making.

"I want you to know your past doesn't matter to me."

Out of nowhere, Sebastian's brave countenance shatters, his brow sets in a frown for about three seconds before he takes a deep breath.

"That's–"

Sebastian stares at his feet, tapping the tip of his shoe off the pavement.

"–very big of you, killer."

"I mean it."

Sebastian looks up, a playful though pained smile coloring his mouth. "Way out of my league," he reiterates a previous statement, and it sends a curious ache through all his extremities. What happened to Sebastian to make him so guarded? Why does he make it sound like he doesn't deserve this?

He wants to pull closer, grab Sebastian's wrist and uncover his soulmark to prove it, to make Sebastian see they were meant to be, they were meant to meet and fall in love and no past indiscretions could ever erase what the universe has known since the day they were born.

_Sebastian Smythe_ tattooed black into his skin.

_Blaine Anderson_ tattooed deep into Sebastian's.

They're soulbound.

"Today has been one of the best days of my life," he says instead, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, scared it might shatter everything around him and reveal it to have been a dream.

Sebastian smiles and brings his hand up, a thumb caressing his cheek. Not a dream, but half a fantasy. Then, Sebastian leans in, his breath warm against his skin, and pushes a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Sparks ignite in his stomach and he wishes he could freeze this moment in time, keep it cupped between the palms of his hands to cherish forever – he knows what he wants now. He wants Sebastian.

"Sweet dreams, killer."

"Goodnight, Sebastian."

He watches Sebastian drive off before he pushes his fingers against the imprint Sebastian's lips left on his skin, his cheeks burning, skin buzzing with something he's never felt before in his life.

This must be what being in love feels like.

.

.

_**to be continued**_

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	5. chapter 5

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**(BURNING) ONE HELL OF A SOMETHING;;**

**chapter five**

.

**(day 9)**

His nightmares all but disappear.

He doesn't know why he needed to meet Sebastian before he believed the tattoo was real, why he needed those precious few hours talking to him and the soft press of Sebastian's lips to a corner of his mouth to assert the idea that sometimes dreams do come true, sometimes it's okay to fantasize, to imagine impossibly big and crazy things.

For two days straight he wakes up with the ghostly impression of someone else's lips around the curve of his mouth, inconspicuous over the right-hand corner unless he closed his eyes and reimagined those final moments – Sebastian's lips stealing a hidden kiss like Peter Pan stealing Mrs Darling's, a fantasy of what could be, things to come, a promise for the future encompassed in a single gesture. He secretly longs for another kiss, a real kiss, not a thimble or an acorn, but a real kiss, one he can return, one that seals the bond coded into their DNA.

At night, he dreams elaborate romantic comedy scenarios where he and Sebastian are the stars; he and Sebastian as Peter and Lizzie in _Wimbledon_, a British wildcard player falling for a young American tennis star, only in his dreams Sebastian speaks perfect French, seduces him with lines like _je t'aime, mon coeur_ and a wicked sense of humor. It almost falls apart, he loses his shot at the championship and Sebastian goes on to play the finale, but their love prevails in the end, and when Sebastian's name appears on his wrist on his eighteenth birthday, Sebastian reveals his name to have been on his own all this time – he'd waited, patiently, for him to see the truth too.

He'll wake up smiling and content, a secret kiss waiting to be stolen all over again fresh on his lips and butterflies making him ten pound lighter – if he were any more of a romantic he might fear floating away if he ever kicked off from the ground too hard, but he keeps those thoughts to himself, far too cheesy for anyone else to hear.

Grabbing his phone he reads Sebastian's text again, sent about half an hour after they said their goodbyes on Thursday. It simply read, 'Thanks for a great day, killer,' followed by a winky face, but it'd started an elation at the pit of his stomach he'd scarcely felt before. Sebastian had a good time with him, they'd spoken openly about family and friends, about Sebastian's stint on Broadway, and even though a part of Sebastian was as guarded as parts of him, there'd still been room for flirtation and wide-eyed staring. Breaking into Sebastian's heart would be a matter of time and patience, like he'd been shown by friends these past few years, and once they got to know each other he'd nestle inside Sebastian's heart like a thief in the night, granting his soulmate every secret kiss for all the days to come.

When he came home Thursday night he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, rehash the past few hours so he could make sense of things, let it simmer into his skin and his bones until he could form it into a coherent story; several people would want to hear what happened. Charlie and Cooper sat curled up together on the couch, Cooper holding up a print-out of the ultrasound, and there it was, that bond between his brother and Charlie he fell in love with when he was merely nine years old – Cooper whispered something to Charlie and she giggled, kissing Cooper's cheek, completely unaware that he'd entered the house.

He'd quickly snuck into the guest room and closed the door behind him, sinking down to the floor as his body tingled with that same bond. It was finally his, he'd met his soulmate, and even though there might be a few bumps along the way he'd laughed out loud. Alone in his room he'd sat laughing for several moments, his knees hugged to his chest, utter joy and pure love coursing through him. He needed to get the hang of Hollywood, adjust to the ebb and flow of a city thus far foreign to him, but he was a quick study and he could do anything if it meant getting close to Sebastian; he needed to find a way past Sebastian's walls, push a little here and there to make him see the wait was over, he was there now, and the universe wanted this as much as they did.

They could be like Susan and David in _Bringing Up Baby_, two people reluctantly forced together through an hilarious series of events, and too proud to admit they have each other's names tattooed into their skin. There'd be misunderstandings and coincidences too ridiculous to be real, they'd bicker and fight and drive each other crazy, but in the end, as it usually goes in Hollywood movies, they'd realize they're each other's perfect match, and live, happy ever after.

He'd spent most of Friday on his own, Cooper out to work and Charlie off on an assignment for one of the many magazines that employed her, but between hours of Skyping with Sam and Tina and writing down everything he could remember of his time with Sebastian, the day passed quickly. On Saturday he'd gone shopping for baby clothes with Charlie, even though she and Cooper had decided not to learn the sex of the baby, but they'd found cute Winnie the Pooh footies too adorable to leave at the store. They'd talked the way they always talked, he the little brother, Charlie the big sister Cooper brought into his life – or maybe that was the universe's doing too, fitting parts of people's lives together like colors on a Rubik's Cube.

She explained once again that starting a family was a decision she and Cooper made together, they'd talked about it for a long time before taking the leap, but Cooper had his insecurities about being a dad, like Charlie had her fears about being a mom. She assured him it was all part of becoming a parent, you can never be completely ready, but when the time came they'd both fall in love with their baby, everything would fall into place, _etc etc_…

Charlie laughed and said that a lot in life inspired fear, but there were just as many things to fall in love with along the way. It was all a matter of opening yourself up to opportunities when they presented themselves.

And he decided there and then he wouldn't let a single opportunity slip through his fingers again.

Now, Sunday morning, he skips into the living room with a trip in his step and his heart stuttering an exciteful kind of panic, much like the one he imagines has informed Charlie's mood of late. He makes himself some breakfast and checks his email on his phone, ready to pass the rest of the morning on the beach reading, leaving Cooper and Charlie to wake up to an empty house; they didn't mind having him around, but he still wanted them to feel like they had the privacy they enjoyed before he showed up. Still, he leaves them a note so they know where he went.

He throws on his new pink shorts and one of his favorite short-sleeved shirts and heads out to the beach, where he sits down on a towel, his own sunglasses perched on his nose this time, and starts a new book, one about a man whose wife goes missing – Charlie had a thing for crime novels, thrillers, and horror stories, so she picked out the good ones. His Kindle was loaded with young adult novels about young love and _Star Wars_ fan fiction, but given the nature of his dreams lately he needed a different genre.

Just last night he dreamed he and Sebastian were Sara and Jonathan in _Serendipity_, two strangers who meet in a department store by complete happenstance, inexplicably drawn to each other like two poles of a magnet – set in a world where soulmarks don't exist, they had a magical night in New York City a few days before Christmas; Sebastian took him ice skating and flirted relentlessly, twirled him around on the ice and drew constellations on his arm with magic marker, even though Sebastian's the one with the freckles. Years passed and the absence of Sebastian carved out a cavernous place in his heart, even though he tried starting a new life with a new guy, faceless and gray – something drew him back to New York though, destiny lured him down familiar streets and fortunate coincidences brought him back to the boy he was meant to be with, Sebastian, tattooed over his heart, his future, his life's purpose.

It was unbelievably cheesy, but it was one of his and Tina's favorite movies, saturated with the idea that despite the lack of soulmarks, some people were still meant to be together.

He gets fifteen pages far in his book before his cellphone rings, the name 'SEBASTIAN' immediately attracting his attention, and soon that all too familiar cadence of a voice fills his entire sense of perception.

"Hey, killer," Sebastian says. "What are you up to right now?"

"Just reading." He picks at a dog-eared page. "Why?"

"I thought we could do lunch again. At my place. Just you and me."

Pleasant warmth clogs up his veins like maple syrup, settles directly below the surface of his skin where a gentle breeze catches on the goosebumps it raises.

"And the dog," Sebastian adds.

He hiccups a laugh. "I'd love to."

"Great," Sebastian says. "I'll send a car."

"No, I can– drive. I'll borrow my brother's car."

"Perfect. See you soon."

He remains seated for another thirty seconds, staring out over the ocean as if the beach foam might reveal the universe to him, but springs into action when his phone buzzes with a text from Sebastian; his address, in case he needed it, followed by another winky face. Grinning from ear to ear, he gathers his things and makes a mental note to check his hair and clothes before he leaves the house again.

"Where are you off to, squirt?" Cooper asks when he storms back in. Cooper and Charlie are still in the kitchen, enjoying a late breakfast, taking their sweet time with each other.

"Sebastian." He darts in and out of his room to deposit his book and towel. "He invited me for lunch. Can I borrow your car?"

Cooper tosses him his keys and points at him with clear warning. "Have it back before midnight."

Charlie gently elbows Cooper in the ribs. "Have fun."

It's been two days, two whole days since he saw Sebastian, and he's been waiting for the opportunity to see him again. The half hour drive does little to steady his nerves – all he wants is to get to know Sebastian, learn more than the sequence of events in which his life unraveled over the years, but the motivations behind it. Why had he chosen Hollywood over Broadway? What were some of the things that kept him going? What past relationship had hurt him to make him so guarded? Maybe Sebastian went through a similar experience as he did, maybe he got bullied, or maybe he had his heart broken by someone he loved. He wanted to get to the bottom of this, get whatever stood in their way out in the open and talk about it, instead of letting it simmer into awkward exchanges.

He pulls up to the marvelously sheltered house on Greenvalley Road, Dottie waving at him excitedly from the gate. Apparently 'just you and me' also included Sebastian's personal assistant, but he won't be deterred. He _will_ talk to Sebastian.

"He's out by the pool!" Dottie squeaks as they cross paths, her body jittery with what he can only guess is nerves – last night Dottie seemed calm and subdued, now she decidedly drank too much caffeine. "I'm so sorry if I ruined your night the other day, I really didn't mean to." She wrings her hands together. "Sebastian keeps telling me I shouldn't let Hunter push me around, but–"

"Don't worry," he hushes the girl's ranting, her buggy eyes wide behind the large prescription glasses. He takes a look at Dottie's wrist, her soulmate's name tattooed in delicate Asian characters.

"I haven't met him yet," Dottie says. "Our parents are still working out the details."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Not at all." Dottie smiles. "It's the way my world works."

There's a strange twist in his stomach at the thought of it, of someone else being in control of the how and when – then again, the system doesn't allow for much control to begin with, they have to wait eighteen years for a stranger's name to set deep below their skin, satisfy their youthful desire with stories and dreams and fantasies until that moment comes and even then it can be a long journey before anyone ever meets their soulmate. He's not sure he got lucky, thrust into an unknown world without any sort of grace period to ease the transition – he hasn't had much control over the how and when of this either, the media stepped in before he could make it known and Hunter took over before he managed to catch a breath.

Making his way down to the pool area he steps into an oasis surrounded by green plant life, completely sheltered from the outside world, from any concrete and high-speed roads, from the cars and the crowds, from all the media and everything else that might invade Sebastian's every day life – he can understand why Sebastian would chose to live here, in the quiet comfort of knowing that nothing or no one can touch him here.

Sebastian has just started another lap when he reaches the bottom step, dipped under water and swimming towards him, and once he resurfaces he flicks his hair to one side, long fingers dragging through the wet brown strands.

"Hey there, killer." Sebastian smiles, hoisting himself out of the pool.

For a second or two, maybe more, maybe eons, he becomes Hannah watching Jacob in _Crazy, Stupid, Love_ right after she commands him to take off his shirt, about to shout, "Oh my God, you look like you're photoshopped!" and jump into his arms like Baby in _Dirty Dancing_, his eyes preoccupied by following the lines of water philandering down Sebastian's chest, cascading down in one of those perfect movie-made moments, slow motion capture, every single drop outlined by the camera.

"I'm glad you came."

His lips part, Sebastian dripping wet stains down on the tiles, his lungs constricting around a distinct lack of oxygen. He's seen Sebastian half-naked before, on screen, in magazines, that one photoshoot Sebastian did on the beach, but being privy to it in real life proves to be an entirely different experience. The magazine had somewhat embellished Sebastian's physique, his abs got touched up and they'd cut into his waistline, but the guy in front of him would've made an equally spectacular photo spread – abs flat and fit and such impressive arms, all covered in so many beauty spots. What were people even thinking airbrushing those out?

"Thanks for inviting me." He clears his throat, but can't bring himself to look away, fresh fantasies taking root; running his fingers down Sebastian's body, playing connect the dots with all the freckles sprinkled down his chest, lying encased in two strong arms while the two of them exchange hugs and real kisses and laugh at each other's silly jokes. His eyes draw down to Sebastian's wrist, finding it obscured from view by his watch – how he longs to see the tattoo printed on Sebastian's skin, trace over every letter until he divines the meaning of his own name.

Sebastian quickly rubs himself dry with a towel. "I know we haven't had much time to get to know each other."

"You're busy. I understand."

"Alright." Sebastian smiles bright. "Let me put on some clothes and I'll make us something to eat."

He follows Sebastian back up to the house, whisking away what secrets he can from Sebastian's flawless skin, his back equally splotched with freckles, and he barely contains a smile – he looks at Sebastian as a man, even though plenty of people agree he has a young fresh face that hasn't aged for a few years. Sam often calls him _baby face_, and somewhere in between the hush-hush of Sebastian's freckles he finds the same conclusion. His idea of Sebastian has been warped by his public image, he doesn't know the boy behind the star, the man inside the boy, the boy who'd made his way to Hollywood and was forced to function in an industry unknown to him.

A Jack Russell terrier emerges barking from the house, and starts jumping up against his legs.

Sebastian pulls the small dog back by the collar. "You guys didn't get a chance to meet the other day."

Hearing Sebastian talk about their first meeting finally reassures him Sebastian hadn't brought him here to sleep with him – Sebastian had felt the same way he had, he hadn't wanted their night to end yet, he wanted him to meet his dog and talk about his mother's paintings.

He sinks down to the floor and scratches the dog behind his ears. "What's his name?"

"Her name's Thandie," Sebastian says. "My mom didn't want me to be lonely."

"You guys sound pretty close."

He stands up and makes his way inside the house, Thandie close behind, sniffing his ankles.

"My mom and me?" Sebastian asks. "Yeah, we are. We have a lot in common."

While Sebastian gets dressed he studies the rest of the living room. One wall of the living room consists solely out of glass, floor-to-ceiling windows interrupted to make room for a fireplace, though in a place like Los Angeles there seems little use for it. Two large sofas stand arranged around a small coffee table in front of the fireplace, another painting on the wall over the largest one, the same style as the phoenix he already took note of. He turns towards the phoenix again, the colors vibrant and alive, as if they could start moving any moment.

Below the painting there's a cupboard covered with picture frames; he recognizes the cast of Sebastian's first Broadway play in one of the photos, Sebastian with family and friends in others, though it's a smaller one hidden near the back that grabs his attention – he unearths it from behind the others and meets a much younger Sebastian, he can't be more than fourteen, his arm thrown around Nick Duval's shoulders, a boy he'd been on stage with for years. He's never seen Sebastian smile the way he does in the picture, young and foolish and unguarded.

"Nick Duval." Sebastian's voice startles him. Dressed in shorts and a near see-through white shirt Sebastian takes hold of the photo and stares at it with melancholy eyes. "My biggest regret."

"You two were–"

"Two young fools in love." Sebastian hides the picture out of sight again, pretending to be unaffected by its presence. "Long time ago." He shrugs, and heads for the kitchen. "It's in the past."

A pang of pain sinks into his heart like a sharp needle thinking of a young Sebastian in love, maybe for the first time ever, only to have his heart broken when Nick's soulmark revealed another name so many years later. Because he's not blind, the picture means something, seeing it shattered something in the surface of Sebastian's steel composure, a near imperceptible chink in his armor. Did Nick break Sebastian's heart? Was this the relationship that closed Sebastian to other opportunities? Maybe Sebastian's still hurting, maybe he's a fool to think that it'll only take a few dates to punch through Sebastian's armor and find that young foolish love himself. There has to be a reason Sebastian keeps the picture around.

"I hope you like BLTs, killer," Sebastian calls from the kitchen, rifling through the fridge. "As far as culinary prowess goes I'm strictly low-key cuisine."

He pushes any thoughts of Nick and the past aside, and joins Sebastian in the kitchen, all the ingredients for the BLTs splayed out on the kitchen counter. "That's okay. I'm pretty handy in the kitchen," he jokes, though the words no sooner leave his mouth or Sebastian retreats behind walls heartbreak had construed for him – he realizes then that he has plans for the future, born after years and years of dreaming of his soulmate; a lot of them included domesticity and preparing meals together, dividing household chores accordingly and aiding each other in building a life together. That's what he's here for, that's the whole point of this, two souls fated together by some unseen force finally meeting and coming together.

The sight of Sebastian pulling back reminds him he'd vowed to push through, to talk to Sebastian like a normal person would on a second date. So he marches to the stove and starts preparing the bacon, giving Sebastian a few more moments to catch his breath.

"You seemed surprised to see me the other day."

"Honestly?" Sebastian faces him. "I didn't think you'd be this good-looking."

He'd find the time to question Sebastian's quick recovery if not for the heat rising in his cheeks, thrown off by Sebastian's flirtation once again – it's Sebastian's way of clearing the air, and it's magnificently effective.

"Or this cute blushing." Sebastian smiles, and reaches out, drawing a thumb over one of his cheeks, another ghostly impression of a touch gone too soon, too quickly. If only he could cheat and hold it there, but being around Sebastian is like being on a rollercoaster ride for the first time, he never knows what's coming, what turn their conversation will take, if it'll loop around or upside down, or when the ride will be over.

"You never– googled me?" he asks tentatively, because in the forever spanning his ninth and eighteenth birthday he'd researched himself so many times, divined how his soulmate would go about finding him and tracking his online footprint accordingly. He'd found plenty of pictures, on the tennis club's website, on McKinley High's website, even a few pictures on his friends' Facebooks that he hadn't managed to privatize. So why hadn't Sebastian known what he looked like? Wouldn't Hunter or Santana have told him? Didn't he catch any of the articles or news segments that informed the world that Blaine Anderson was Sebastian Smythe's soulmate? What wasn't Sebastian telling him?

In the forever spanning his question and Sebastian's answer he sees the boy behind the man hesitating, weighing his words, prolonging the silence by chopping up the tomatoes. "The internet takes away a lot of the romance," Sebastian answers, as close to the truth as he can manage. It's not a lie, it's even something they agree on, but there's another truth in between the lines he can't detect yet. Maybe the wound Nick left was too fresh, maybe Sebastian had counted on Nick being his soulmate and he got an entirely different boy instead. "Technology often does."

"Says the man walking around with two cellphones."

"Touché." Sebastian releases a breathy laugh, cutting the lettuce next. "It's a competitive business. Everyone's chasing the same things, the same parts, the same awards. If you want to get the right parts you have to play the game. That's kind of how it works here."

It all sounded like a recipe for an unsatisfying life, a different rollercoaster he's not sure he's interested in riding – he liked the idea of Hollywood from afar, but whatever he's seen from up close wasn't the dream the world portended it to be. He's seen children walked on leashes and dogs in car seats, kids that can't be more than five talking on expensive iPhones or walking around with computers worth thousands of dollars. And all the while his brother's a struggling actor, often relying on Charlie's paychecks to make ends meet. This was a strange city, and he wonders if it ever changed people.

Maybe he was wrong, maybe this relationship would be a constant uphill battle against an industry that thrives on its stars appearing single and available, and Sebastian's own reservations about what it means to love and be loved. Because he can't see why else Sebastian would be so resistant. He's starting to feel more like Tom in _(500) Days of Summer_ trying to convince Summer that they're soulmates – but that's one love story he'd rather not think about; he's nothing like Tom, who was foolishly convinced Summer and he were meant to be, only to watch her find happiness with someone else. It's not like that for him, he has the proof printed on his wrist already, and so does Sebastian.

"So, your brother lives in LA?"

The question fails to deter any of his unease.

"Yeah."

"What does he do?"

"He's an actor, actually." He piles lettuce and tomatoes on two whole-wheat slices of bread. "He does those free credit rating commercials."

"You're kidding. Dottie has the jingle as her ringtone. It drives me nuts."

He smiles; Sebastian isn't the first to say that. "Well, he loves it."

"He's a lot older than you."

"Nine years."

"So he's married, then?"

"Almost ten years. And he's going to be a dad in six months."

"You excited to be an uncle?"

He looks at Sebastian, standing right beside him as they finish garnishing the sandwiches, and revels at the turn this conversation's taking – he rarely meets people so genuinely interested in him. So what is this? What are they doing? Why does Sebastian want to know all these things about him but can't seem to understand he wants the same things in return?

"I am," he answers. "And they're going to be great parents, my sister-in-law's amazing."

"I always wanted a sister when I was younger."

"Why?"

"Are you kidding? Someone to boss around all the time?"

He laughs. "You forgot someone to belittle, criticize, and give embarrassing nicknames to."

"Shit," Sebastian breathes. "That bad, huh? I might need to have a word with that brother of yours."

And then Sebastian touches his nose.

It's as brief a touch as ever there was one, and he can't be too sure whether he imagined it or not, but Sebastian touches his index finger to the tip of his nose, and taps once, before grabbing both their plates off the kitchen counter.

_Trying to keep my heart on the tracks_, the lyrics swim in front of his eyes, because he can't make heads or tails of this. One moment Sebastian does everything in his power to drive him away, to make him question whether he's in the right place, when the next he's sweet and honest and open, a regular boy among so many others, a boy he's steadily falling for.

He won't be able to reign in his heart for much longer.

"Did I take the romance out of this for you?" Sebastian asks, settling down outside on the terrace. "Being who I am. Meeting Santana and Hunter first."

"It all happened really fast."

He sees no point in lying about this, if he wants honesty from Sebastian he has to dote out his own. It hasn't been an easy transition, leaving his small town life behind for the big splendor of Hollywood, getting disillusioned hard and fast but braving all the hardship in the knowledge that he'd meet his soulmate. The world's a strange place in general, but Hollywood is a world of its own.

"I feel like I'm finally catching my breath."

"Good." Sebastian smiles. "That's important. Finding a place to calm down."

"Is that why you live here on your own?"

"Pretty cool, isn't it? I used to share an apartment with some friends from New York, but I needed a place for myself."

They talk like they talked two days ago, Sebastian asks more about Brown and his plans for the future, about his friends back home, Sam and Tina, but avoids the topic of ex-boyfriends this time around. Sebastian talks about moving to Los Angeles and his struggles his first year, going out to audition after audition only to be met with disappointment every single time. He almost gave up on Hollywood and headed back to Broadway, until he caught the attention of a young casting director, who got him his first break. He'd seen the movie after his crush on Sebastian fully kicked in; it was a small talking part, but it got Sebastian noticed by the big studios, the start of a quick rise to fame.

In that short afternoon hour he becomes every character in every romantic movie ever, sat across the table from his love interest, slowly but surely converting to the idea that this could be the person he'll love for the rest of his life, this vibrant larger-than-life broken boy that he'll put back together again. Sebastian spins him around his finger and reels him in, even if his moods often swing him like a yo-yo, but the certainty of this lay set in his DNA, on his skin, in his heart.

"Come on, we're going for a hike."

Sebastian jumps up from his seat and holds out his hand, pulling him up when he offers his own hand. He's not wearing the right shoes for a hike, but he's too swept up in Sebastian's energy to complain, so he follows him back through the house, down to the pool, where he'd already noticed a short stone staircase leading up into the hills – the steps turn into wooden beams as they climb higher, Thandie winding between their legs every so often, and he tries to keep pace with Sebastian, who's clearly done this many times before.

They pass a small hidden alcove with another terrace, pebbles covering the sand, white paper lanterns hanging from the trees that provide lighting should it grow too dark; Sebastian marches on, clearly set on taking him to a specific spot.

Finally, after another three minutes, they end up at the end of the path, a clearing overlooking a deep valley of houses, parks and waterways, a more impressive view than he ever thought Hollywood could offer.

His eyes go wide. "This is amazing."

"It's one of my favorite places in the world."

Seeing Hollywood through Sebastian's eyes he understands the appeal, the city of success, of make-it or break-it, of places hidden out of sight to offer sanctuary from all the negativity that followed celebrities around, a welcome break from a hectic life.

Sebastian takes a deep breath and stares out over the valley, eyes on a distant and unfixed point. "How do you feel about soulmates?"

His heart skips a heedless beat hearing the word fall from Sebastian's lips for the very first time. "You mean us?"

"No, I mean– In general." Sebastian looks at him. "The whole concept of it."

"It's the way the world works," he says, even though it sounds mechanical, but that's how it's always been, from Ancient Mesopotamia until now. The Ancient Greeks glorified it in their writing, Ancient Egyptians built monuments and graves so that soulmates could spend eternity together, the Romantics raised the soulmark as the freest expression of the human soul, history rife with famous couples fated together. It's how the world worked, it's all people knew. "Why– do you ask?"

Sebastian faces away again and forces a silence, not to weigh his words, but to give voice to his own thoughts, his private musings, and when Sebastian looks at him again there's a curiosity in his eyes he couldn't fathom if he had another hundred years to interpret it. "You think the universe ever makes mistakes? Brings two people together that are completely wrong for each other?"

The silence is his this time. Is Sebastian talking about Nick?

"I don't– understand."

Sebastian closes his eyes. "Yeah, I'm just– I'm rambling. I'm sorry."

He's never heard anyone talk like this, these are the ravings of a crazy person, of the nihilists who believe they shouldn't be led by a system science can't explain, that they shouldn't trust in something that still leads to so many mistakes. No one takes those people seriously, there are too many men and women out there who'd looked into each other's eyes and found love, found a piece of themselves, their lives completed by the simple presence of another person. But what does that say about Sebastian? Are these merely the musings of a lonely boy who once got his heart broken? Who saw the boy he loved receive someone else's name? Or does he hold true to these beliefs?

"How are you so sure about all this?"

"I've seen it," he says, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, not for himself, but for Sebastian, because how can he be so convinced that he doesn't deserve to be loved? "I watched my brother fall in love. My best friend. My parents still love each other as much as the day they met." He takes a tentative step towards Sebastian, closer than he's ever been, and reaches a hand out for his arm. "What about your parents?"

"My parents." Sebastian laughs, but nods, and somewhere in there he swears he hears a tear or two. "My parents fell in love the moment they saw each other."

His fingers curl tighter around Sebastian's arm, his beliefs curled around his entire genetic make up, in every nook and cranny of his eighteen years of loving and remembering and dreaming. "That's how I'm sure."

For a moment or two he fears Sebastian might repeat how out of his league he is, which only sounds like Sebastian pointing out how hopelessly mismatched they are for each other. But Sebastian forces a few even breaths into his lungs and calms down, before raising his hands to his face.

"What are you doing?" he whispers, but drinks in the touch like he's been starved for it for centuries, Sebastian's hands soft and warm and close, his eyes a brilliant green.

"I'm going to kiss you, Mr Anderson."

Evy to Rick in_ The Mummy_. His lips part, heat pooling in his stomach at the thought alone – a kiss, a real kiss, it's more than he could've hoped for.

"Isn't that how this soulmate thing works?"

"This– thing?" he asks confused, a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sebastian's hands fall away. "I'm sorry." He shakes his head and trips a step back.

"Sebastian. What's wrong?"

"What if I'm not the person you expect me to be?"

Does he really seem like this person? Has he pushed too hard, wished for too much, dreamed too big? He does have expectations, it's hard not to after eighteen years of dreaming of a soulmate. What were the chances of that soulmate being his celebrity crush? Hadn't he been drawn to Sebastian for a reason? Hadn't this all been fated all along? He'd been prepared to face some obstacles, but how hard does he push, how much time does he let pass before Sebastian's walls give way to the inevitable?

He _wants_ this. He feels this stronger than anything.

And he'll fight for it.

He reaches out and takes one of Sebastian's hands in his, caressing his thumb over Sebastian's knuckles. "I'll get to know the person you are. We're soulmates," he says, and prays to the high heavens and beyond that means something to Sebastian, that it doesn't mean something different or lesser to this boy who could be so much more. "We'll figure it out."

Sebastian smiles sadly, his lips set in a tight line, his hand giving his a light squeeze.

"I really hope you do, Blaine Anderson."

.

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**to be continued**

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	6. chapter 6

**author's** **notes:** so sorry again for the long wait, school's been kicking my ass and other stories still need to be written too : ) thanks to everyone sticking with me though!

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**(BURNING) ONE HELL OF A SOMETHING;;**

**chapter six**

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**(day 13)**

_This isn't how it's supposed to be_.

The thought has been his constant companion since the day he met Sebastian and it won't stop spinning circles in his head; it curls around his self-esteem until an entirely different thought strikes him: how exactly had he expected to feel? Try as he might, the idea of love is just that, an idea, one he'd placed center stage on a pedestal in his life, elevated it to the highest point of personal achievement and ultimate happiness. But an idea isn't a feeling, it's an approximation of a feeling. _An idealized version_.

Maybe he lay the path for his own disappointment, maybe his foolish dreams of true love and domestic bliss blinded him to a harsh reality: Sebastian's a real boy in a crazy world he doesn't understand, with his own ideas and hopes and dreams, he's lived with his name on his wrist for four years without knowing when or even if he'd show up – his own father waited for his mom for nine years. Who knows what might've happened in that time.

Granted, his dad never lacked patience, a trait he didn't pass on to either of his sons, but his dad had at least two relationships in the time he spent waiting for his mom – it was never made a secret, his parents were as honest with each other as they could, and that honesty extended to him and Cooper; they didn't want them to be scared to talk about the important things in their lives. Still, he worried over what they might say to him now. Tough it out? Give it time? He's not sure how many more of those platitudes he can stand to hear.

Yesterday he gave his dad a call over Skype and asked about the other women. Becca, his dad's college girlfriend, had been waiting for her own soulmate for several years, and they found a kinship in the space between, while Vivian's soulmate tragically died in a car crash, and her dad somehow made her believe in love again. He couldn't fathom why his dad would date someone he knew wasn't his soulmate. Could non-fated people be truly in love? Was it even real if they didn't have each other's names tattooed on their wrists? There are people out there that don't marry their soulmates, though society doesn't look too kindly on them, but how do they live with themselves? How do they let down the people they're meant to be with to be with each other?

"It felt real," his dad said. "It wasn't the same as what I have with your mom, but it was real."

"What if you had to choose?" he asked, fuelled by a painful curiosity he wished he wouldn't give this much thought. But Sebastian was clearly hung up on a relationship that in his opinion never had a future, so where does that leave him? "What if you'd been with Becca when you met mom?"

His father fell silent and thought about his question long and hard, much longer than he expected he'd need. Shouldn't it have been an easy decision? His mom's name was on his dad's wrist, he cherished that tattoo every minute of every day, so why would it have been a difficult decision? Did all this mean that Sebastian could've easily picked Nick over him if he'd been forced to choose?

"I don't know, son. You don't just walk away from someone you care about."

None of this made sense to him.

"Is everything okay with Sebastian?"

His eyes shot up at the computer screen again, his father staring at him with clear worry in his eyes, and he did something he hadn't done since Dave Karofsky started bullying him: he faked a smile and lied through his teeth. "Everything's fine," he said. "It's this whole Marley thing, to be honest. Tina's keeping me updated."

The lie came easy because he'd talked to Tina a few hours before, a conversation that had fed right into his insecurities. Marley had chosen Jake. She'd chosen Jake over her soulmate, Ryder, and he couldn't decide who he felt for more; Marley, over having to make the decision, or Ryder, for getting the short end of the deal. Part of him wanted to envy Marley her bravery, for following her heart rather than the name on her wrist, but he believed the two inextricably connected, the soulmark entwined with someone's heart's desires, but now he doesn't know what to think anymore.

Having gotten no clear answer from his dad, he turned to his brother for guidance. Besides dating a few girls in high school Cooper never fell in love with another girl; he never met any of them, anyway. He liked to think Cooper had been in the same position, eighteen and completely clueless about how to proceed, his soulmate a few years older.

He found his brother in the master bedroom, flexing in front of the mirror, undeterred when he entered the room. "Coop, how did you know?" He plunked down on the bed, transformed back into the kid brother who thought Cooper could do anything, and that he had all the answers to life's scariest questions.

"Know what, squirt?"

He cringed at the sound of the nickname, but ignored it in favor of getting his questions answered. "That Charlie was the right girl for you."

"Besides the soulmark?" Cooper walked over to the bed and sat down next to him. "To be honest, a lot of it came from her side. She'd been waiting for me for years and I was a kid compared to her. I still don't know how I got so lucky."

He wired his hands together.

"Is Sebastian pressuring you to–"

"No." He shook his head, reminded of the distance Sebastian kept putting between them, the calculated retreat he made every time it seemed like they might get somewhere. "The opposite."

"He's not a believer," Cooper said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. How did that happen? How did anyone not believe in magic? And how did the universe fate him to someone like that? He's Blaine the Romantic, not _Blaine the Endurer_. "Hey, it happens. I wasn't a big believer either until I met Charlie."

"What changed?"

"We realized what we could mean to each other."

What could he mean to Sebastian? He dreamed of being the boy who got Sebastian to stop moving so fast, a boy he could settle down with and make him see that when the right person came along no sacrifice was too big. But he wasn't sure if that was even attainable in this world Sebastian chose to work in.

"I don't know if you've noticed this, squirt, but I'm not the most realistic guy in the world," Cooper continued, his voice a distant echo inside a heart slowly hollowed out. "I'm a big dreamer, but I don't have the talent to make it big."

He blinked. Since when did his brother talk like this? He's had to adjust some of his ideas of what his brother's home life looked like, he'd only ever been privy to Charlie and Cooper's perfectly quiet and beautiful moments together whenever they visited, but Cooper's never sounded these kind of insecurities. Cooper had an enormous amount of talent, he just had some weird quirks. "Coop, that's not–"

Cooper hushed him with a raise of his hand, his usual melodramatics. "My point is Charlie loves me for me, all my flaws and shortcomings. She believes in me. And I need that."

He needed that too, but how could Sebastian be that person without knowing him? Without taking the trouble getting to know him? Charlie and his brother completed each other the same way his parents did, the same way he imagined Mike and Tina would – it seemed he and Sebastian still had a long way to go. Was that unattainable too?

"It'll be the same for you and Sebastian." Cooper clasped a hand around his knee. "It just takes time."

He bit at his lip but had no answers, his brother's platitudes somehow different than the ones his parents served up. Sebastian had loved and lost and still bore the scars of that relationship after so long, how could he think he'd waltz in and erase any trace of that painful past? He believed he could soothe the pain by showing Sebastian that life didn't end because his first love didn't end up being his last. But where did he even start?

A few days after their second date, if that's what he can call it, he wakes up well before dawn, sweaty and half hard after a night of restless sleep. He tossed and turned plagued by dreams of Sebastian naked in bed, embedded in black sheets, his pale skin set off starkly against the dark shade; Sebastian looked perfect though, planes of flawless skin constellated with so many freckles, freckles he would name one by one if he ever had the time.

Then, the sheets started losing their color – all the black drained like ocean waves giving way to a passing storm, slowly epi-centering into a wriggly line alive on Sebastian's skin, whimsically moving up and down his body, undecided on where to settle.

He leaned in and kissed a corner of Sebastian's mouth, while the black line curved around every single one of Sebastian's freckles, playful and coy.

Until he noticed what the black line was.

It was his name, flitting crisscross over Sebastian's skin.

He gasped and caught it under the tip of his finger, holding it in place over Sebastian's heart.

"What do you plan on doing with that, killer?" Sebastian asked, and shot up, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth before sucking it hard. "Can't leave that flying around."

He moaned and straddled Sebastian around the hips, rocking back and forth until he found a rhythm that spun his head, that almost had him release his name to folly, but he hung on tighter.

"Come on, killer." Sebastian sat up and whispered low in his ear, bucking up into him. "You know where that goes."

And he knew exactly where his name should be, the outline of the letters on Sebastian's wrist, and had dreamed of how it would match his own tattoo. He traced his finger up Sebastian's torso, along his collarbone and down his shoulder, all the way down the length of his arm. Until, finally, he managed to release his name where it belonged, a mirror image of his on the inside of Sebastian's left wrist. He raised their hands together and looked at both their tattoos, vibrating with excitement.

"See?" Sebastian kissed his knuckles. "That wasn't too hard now, was it?"

He crashed out of the dream with a strangled moan and the dissatisfied thought that it hasn't been easy at all, Sebastian keeps inviting him closer willingly, and when they talk it's the most amazing thing, but at the end of the day he's left wanton. Sebastian allows him closer to a certain extent and he wants so much more. So maybe it's time he actively changes that. Maybe it takes more than asking the right questions. If he wants to show Sebastian what they could mean to each other, maybe Sebastian should see his world too. He gets up and showers, cleaning off the clamminess his dream left him with, and dresses quickly – he makes sure his plans agree with Charlie's and Cooper's, and wastes no time calling Sebastian, lest he lose his nerve.

The phone dials three times before Sebastian picks up with a soft, "Hey."

"Sebastian, it's me." He sits cross-legged on his bed. "It's Blaine."

"I know, killer. I do have caller ID."

"Right." He laughs a little awkward, and tugs at his ear for want of something better to do with his free hand. "I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me. Tonight."

"Sure," Sebastian answers easily. "When do I pick you up?"

"I uh– I want to cook for you." He scratches behind his ear now, his nerves creating an imaginary itch. "You can come to my brother's place?"

"Killer, please, you're embarrassing me." A smile sounds in Sebastian's voice, while he hears Thandie barking in the background. "Is there anything you can't do?"

_Make you love me_, the terrifying thought flashes in front of his eyes, but he shakes his head, as if that might chase away the insecurities.

"When do you want me?"

"Seven?"

"How about six, and I'll help you out?" Sebastian suggests. "We can talk while I continue to be impressed."

He smiles and bites the inside of his lip, thanking whatever entity's looking out for him that Sebastian seems open to this. "That sounds great."

"I'll be there."

By the time he hangs up his belly's in flutters, the prospect of seeing Sebastian and talking to him enticing an excitement that quickly erases any apprehension the past few days have left him with – they're all just dreams and strange thoughts his own insecurities cooked up, and he shouldn't give them too much space to grow.

Both his brother and Charlie are out working, so he takes the bus to the grocery store, and half an hour later he has all the ingredients to cook his dad's famous Chicken Vindaloo. He's never cooked for someone other than his family, or Tina whenever she stayed for dinner, but he's cooked the recipe a few times now, so it shouldn't be a problem. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't mean to impress Sebastian.

Once he's back home he washes the chicken and prepares the spice paste, coating the chicken with it. He's at it for a good hour and a half before he can let the chicken marinate; Sebastian said he wanted to help out but the chicken will need several hours, and there's still a few things left to do later. At least now he still has time to put together an outfit and set the table.

Laying out all his clothes he decides on something casual; the red chinos go perfectly with a navy dotted shirt, finished with a pair of loafers he hasn't worn in ages.

By four Charlie and Cooper come home, but they inform him they're just going to shower and change, before they head out for a romantic dinner for two, followed by a long walk – they're kind enough not to mention this walk will last as long as Sebastian will be around; he's nervous enough as it is, and he's already having much too vivid dreams of being with Sebastian. He'd rather not tempt fate by saying anything too loud or assuming something might happen tonight that could drastically change the speed they're moving at. He'll take what he can get, and he'll show Sebastian what he could mean to him.

At six sharp the doorbell rings, and he steels himself. Deep breaths. Baby steps. He can do this.

Sebastian smiles bright the moment their eyes meet, his deep breaths futile when they get knocked right out of him at the sight of the gorgeous boy; he's wearing a light-blue fitted shirt with long sleeves, tucked neatly into a pair of skinny dress pants, the few loose buttons on the shirt teasing a freckle or four, five, six before they dip underneath the fabric.

"I don't know if you drink." Sebastian raises a tub of Häagen-Dazs ice cream into his line of vision. "So I brought the next best thing."

"It's perfect." He smiles, mouth watering at something undefined. "Come on in."

Sebastian glances around the room. "Your brother not around?"

"He and Charlie went out."

"Shame," Sebastian says. "I would've loved to meet him."

"Why?"

Sebastian's eyebrows rise as if he asked the strangest possible question. "He's important to you. Why wouldn't I want to meet him?"

His eyes narrow playfully. "Admit it. You secretly love that free credit rating jingle."

Sebastian throws his head back and laughs. "We've got jokes now, do we, killer?" He winks. "Two can play that game."

He leads Sebastian into the kitchen smiling, safeguarding the ice cream in the freezer, and turns to see Sebastian rolling up his sleeves. His eyes draw to his wrist instinctively, but his hopes shatter when his soulmark proves covered by his watch again. Will he ever get to see it? Sebastian probably covers it on instinct, afraid the press might get hold of it, but there's no need for him to hide here, not in front of him. Besides, it's not like the whole world doesn't know by now.

Sebastian claps his hands together. "What can I do?"

"Don't worry, I've already done the heavy lifting." He pulls a knife and cutting board from a cupboard by their feet. "I'm going to start on the chicken and the rice, and you can chop the onions?"

Sebastian feints a hand over his heart. "Oh, you're gonna make me cry."

He can't help another smile, and a pang of admiration when Sebastian braves the task; they're both crying in a matter of second even with the extraction hood on full.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me."

"You offered to help," he counters, trying his best not to rub his eyes.

Sebastian soon finishes cutting the onions, with a lot of tears and a fair amount of sniffling, far cuter than he should be able to pull off in his state; he shows Sebastian the bathroom so he can splash some water in his face, but soon they're back to their usual routine: easy conversation while Sebastian watches him add the chopped onions and tomato paste to the chicken.

Sebastian's seated at the kitchen table when he asks, "What's your hometown like?"

"Lima?" He shrugs, never really having thought about it in any certain terms; Lima was home, few people could pinpoint exactly why it felt precious. "It's small and everyone knows everyone. But I kind of like that about it. It's charming, in its own Ohioan kind of way. The people aren't always so tolerant, but–"

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing." He shrugs again, any certainty flitting from his skin. Why did he say that? "I– Nothing."

A chair scrapes loudly over the kitchen floor, Sebastian moving over to his side. "Blaine," he says, the name someone else's, a victim's, someone who let his bullies get the best of him for quite a while. But he's not that boy. Still, the silent plea in Sebastian's green-flaked eyes sends a warm pulse through his body. Sebastian _cares_.

"People can be mean."

"You mean teenagers."

There's a non-committal sound at the back of his throat; he doesn't want to tell Sebastian about Karofsky or any other would-be bullies, not because he mistrusts Sebastian or because his pride gets in the way, but because he's never allowed it to beat him down. Any time he came close to breaking he dealt with it in his own way and came out stronger, unashamed, not a victim. So he doesn't want Sebastian to think that about him either.

"What was it like for you?"

"I can't complain." Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the kitchen counter. "I got lucky. I had friends in Paris and New York who accepted me for who I was." His brow sets in a deep frown, and for some reason he's drawn to that confusion, he wants to know what makes Sebastian tick, see what gears and coils work together to animate this gorgeous boy. "Coming out to the world was a different story. I was out on Broadway, but Hollywood's a different place. A different world."

Sebastian looks at him, his face wide open and waiting to be read. "I had to fight a lot of prejudice to get where I am today." This is the closest he's come to the truths and beliefs that drive Sebastian, that make him get up every morning and sleep soundly at night and they're eerily similar to his. He's never had to fight an entire industry, but he understands. "I wouldn't change anything though."

Those truths and beliefs reverberate down to the marrow in his bones. "What's the point of anything if you can't be yourself."

"Exactly." Sebastian smiles softly, the lazy curl of his lips solidifying a truth that lay imprinted in his DNA, and he feels ever stronger. Gravity plays between them as if the poles have been reversed, he wants to fall into Sebastian's field of gravity and keep falling, he wouldn't worry about getting up if it meant being with Sebastian.

"So, have you really seen all my movies?"

He's grateful for the change in pace. "Yeah, I have."

Sebastian cocks an eyebrow. "Even _Raiders_?"

He nods. "Yup."

"What's your favorite?"

"Probably your latest. I'm a big Quinn Fabray fan too."

He's none too sure if _If Only She Knew_ wasn't his favorite movie because he watched it the night before he received his soulmark though.

"What's she like?"

"Quinn Fabray?" Sebastian asks. "Gorgeous, sweet, knows what she wants. She can be a little bossy, doesn't like it when things don't go her way. But she's great fun."

Sebastian probably gets these kinds of questions all the time; he and Quinn looked amazing together on screen and the red carpet, and in their interviews they always seemed like such great friends. The tabloids speculated about them being a couple because they were seen going to night clubs together and hanging out outside of work; it'll never cease to amaze him how the media can ignore someone's sexual identity in favor of a juicy story – but he's come to understand Hollywood as an industry that didn't care about anyone's personal life if it wasn't at least a little bit scandalous.

"I have a shoot with her on Monday," Sebastian says. "You should come. I'll introduce you."

His face falls, pulled into Sebastian's orbit in ways he never thought possible, in ways he never thought he wanted – but he wants to see Sebastian's life, all of it, the bad things, the good things, the people in it, all the behind-the-scenes features he can scarcely imagine. "You would do that?"

"Of course. I'll show you a part of my life." Sebastian smiles, speaking words that sound like music to his ears. "You can meet Santana. Could be fun."

"Okay." He beams. "That sounds great."

He lifts the lid off the skillet and cuts into the chicken to see if it's done; he'll give it another few minutes, but dinner is close to perfection. "Here." He spoons up some of the marinade and presents it to Sebastian. "Try this."

Sebastian eyes the spoon. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to seduce me."

"I'm not," he blurts out, though really, isn't he? Isn't that the whole point of this? Then again, does he know anything about seducing a guy? "I mean–" he stutters. "I just–"

"Relax." Sebastian winks. "I like it."

Heat sinks into his cheeks, lips parting when Sebastian's form around the tip of the spoon and he tries some of the sauce, licking his lips before he hums, "Hmm, that's just right."

Pride and lust stutter through his chest all at once, the paired sensations strange and new, though it isn't the first time that he's felt something new around Sebastian.

He starts serving dinner, filling up two plates.

"I have some wine, if you'd like some," he says. "I don't really drink, it's makes me–"

"Don't leave me hanging, killer."

He shakes his head, his cheeks getting warmer and warmer. "It makes me unpredictable," he says, consciously omitting that on the few occasions he got drunk he also got incredibly horny.

Sebastian takes a glass of wine with his food, while he sticks to water, but dinner is amazing. He decides there and then that inviting Sebastian over was one of his best decisions yet, even if he's already experienced some of Sebastian's casual and flirty behavior first hand – Sebastian hasn't pulled back so far, hasn't fallen back on self-deprecation or made himself seem unworthy of all this. Today Sebastian's any other boy getting to know another boy; soulmate or not, this is the closest they've ever been.

"Who taught you how to cook?" Sebastian asks, sipping some wine, his plate nearly empty.

"My dad," he answers. "Though my mom did teach me how to make pancakes and cupcakes."

"I can make a mean pancake."

He almost snorts.

"Careful, Blaine Anderson." Sebastian points at him. "Or I might have to prove it to you."

He smiles and hides a smile inside another bite, but lets the playful threat take root in his wildest fantasies – will they ever get to a point where he can wake up to Sebastian making him pancakes?

He fits whatever dishes he can in the dishwasher, the pots that remain left abandoned in the sink – he follows Sebastian's lead and settles down on the ground in front of the couch, along with two bowls of ice cream. One of Cooper's smooth jazz records plays in the background, the soft cling of the spoon in the ceramic bowls its own rhythm. They talk about their favorite types of music and their past performing; he only has Glee club to talk about but Sebastian seems interested, laughing at all his crazy stories and disbelieving more than a few; he tells Sebastian about how he met Tina and Sam and how close they've gotten over the years; Sebastian answers all the questions he has about Paris and New York, and some of his youth spent there.

And in the infinite moments that illuminate a future for them, he notices Sebastian never mentions Nick; no matter how detailed his questions about Broadway are Sebastian staunchly avoids the topic of Nick, omits his existence in the most important times of his life – because Sebastian might fool himself and others, but his time on Broadway was clearly one of the happiest in his life.

"Can I ask you–" He discards his bowl on the coffee table and licks his lips, sinking down against the couch cushions, "–about Nick?"

Sebastian stares down at his hands. "Sure."

He can't say what makes him brave enough to ask, but these past two weeks he's gotten a taste of what unrequited love might feel like, so he can't imagine what it's like to lose love altogether. There are so many things he has yet to understand, yet to learn; he thought he had all the answers, but he clearly doesn't. That's why he asks. "I've never been in love. So I don't know what it's like."

It's harder to admit that he thought; he's eighteen and a hopeless romantic, and he's focused so hard on falling in love with his soulmate for so long, ever since he saw his amazing older brother fall in love with the girl of his dreams. And maybe that was a mistake, maybe he should've explored some options beyond Joey Walker and an unnamed soulmate. Then maybe he could understand the depths of Sebastian's reluctance.

"Nick and I were together for three years." Sebastian avoids his eyes. "We loved each other. And we promised each other forever."

Three years, he thinks, _three years_? Marley chose Jake over her soulmate after darling him only a year, how did Nick walk away? How did Sebastian let him go?

The scariest thought yet strikes him like lightning: maybe Sebastian hasn't let Nick go at all, maybe all the boys the tabloids claim he chases are weak carbon copies of the real thing.

"Seeing the person you're in love with fall for someone else is about the worst feeling in the world. Like your heart's been ripped from your chest." Sebastian glances at him sideways, eyes landing on his tattoo. "And all because of some stupid–"

He draws his arm back, tempted to cry tears Sebastian must've cried years ago. Cooper was right, somewhere in the midst of change and heartbreak and seeing Nick fall for someone else, Sebastian had stopped believing. No wonder Sebastian felt so reluctant to open up, his name was nothing but a reminder of one of the worst times of his life. For the past four years _Blaine Anderson_ was nothing but a reminder that Sebastian and Nick weren't fated.

"I'm sorry." Sebastian sighs. "Didn't mean to ruin the mood."

"You didn't," he lies. Serves him right for asking. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Any– resistance you might feel, Blaine, it's me, okay?" Sebastian finds his eyes, and it pierces right through him, how hurt and broken Sebastian still is after all these years, how undeserving he feels himself. "It's not you– You're–" Sebastian scratches behind his ear. "God, you're perfect, killer."

Sebastian averts his eyes. "Too perfect."

And in that moment he's not, he's not perfect at all, he expects Sebastian to open up but he's barely allowed himself to, he wants to dig down to the dark and gritty parts of Sebastian's past but pride prevents him from granting Sebastian the same. He can cook and sing and he's going to college in two weeks, but those are just facts, that doesn't tell Sebastian anything about his personality or ambitions – or any of the things he hopes for their relationship to become. He wants it all and he wants it fast, the instant connection he thought at the core of the soulmate bond, but not even Cooper and Charlie became that cuddly lovey-dovey couple overnight. He and Sebastian are their own people, with their own hopes and dreams, with a past that can't be erased and pain and heartbreak to go along with that.

"I'm not perfect."

He's not, he's so far from perfect it breaks his heart. He's idealized every story he's ever heard, every scene he witnessed through pink-tinted glasses – how could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so _naïve_? If he were perfect he would be patient, he wouldn't push Sebastian and make him retreat all in the same breath. If he were perfect, he might've lowered his expectations already.

Sebastian touches his fingers to the back of his neck, sending goosebumps along the ridges of his disconcertion. "Hey," he calls softly, and all the broken parts of him want to coil inside the one word, feel safe and sound in the level of care it reflects. He looks up at Sebastian, skin tingling where his fingers twirl wholly distracting circles in his curls. "Take it from someone who knows. You're a special breed of boy, Blaine Anderson."

Green eyes become his entire world. He doesn't understand what makes him different from any other boys and why it should be so appealing, but he can't bring himself to ask; he's asked enough questions, pushed hard enough, and Sebastian hasn't fled yet, he's still here enjoying his company, and he fears doing anything to chase him away. Being around Sebastian feels so right, and that's more than his crush talking – if it were only a crush he'd be nervous, he wouldn't be carefully leaning into Sebastian's touch, still winding circles in his hair.

"Don't ever lose that," Sebastian adds in a whisper, and he lets gravity take him.

Heat draws down to his stomach as Sebastian's lips tentatively brush along his, his hand gently cupping along his ear now, a kiss followed by Sebastian nipping at his lips. He gasps and his head spins, his insides knotting together – he reaches a hand for Sebastian's face, but doesn't get that far, Sebastian's tongue tracing along his mouth. His body heats up and he digs fingers into Sebastian's shirt and it's all he can do to hold on when Sebastian takes him by the hand – Sebastian's right hand opens against his left, their fingertips brushing before their fingers slot together, their hands lacing into a single fist.

It's intimate and sweet and nothing at all like he expected. He thought Sebastian would be rough edges he had yet to smooth over, hard touches he had to unlearn and a heart unwilling to surrender to anything as cemented as a soulmate bond. But he has no problem sinking into this, a slow burn of a kiss that underscores how little of Sebastian Hollywood has managed to warp, there's a romantic in this gorgeous man all the same, one he just has to know, he has to.

They pull apart with a sigh and gaze into each other's eyes, breathing labored, and it's as if they both mean to say, _did you feel that too?_

And he did, he felt every inch of that kiss, the hope encased in it, every promise it held for the future and every step forward it allowed.

He lets Sebastian kiss along his jaw, behind his ear, down his neck, until it all gets to be a little too much – he didn't know it was possible to feel this way. "Sebastian," he breathes, fingers hooking around Sebastian's shirt collar, but none too sure what he meant to say.

Sebastian pulls back and kisses his forehead. "You're quite something, killer."

He's dizzy, but he allows the compliment to comprise his self-esteem – he wants to mean something to Sebastian, a love he never had with Nick, a forever that could actually be. But it'll take time. He accepts that. He pulls away so he can look at Sebastian.

"Was that your first–"

"No." His cheeks heat up again. "Not my first kiss."

Sebastian smiles. "Who was your first?"

"Joey Walker," he says. "I was fourteen. We played tennis together. He was cute."

"But you've never had a boyfriend."

"He moved away. And I never really found anyone else I was interested in."

Asking Sebastian about his first kiss seems a foregone conclusion; it's clear Nick isn't as far in the past as either of them would like, so he'd rather not dredge that up anymore than he already has tonight. He's happy to answer any of Sebastian's questions though.

"Not your friend then?" Sebastian asks. "Sam, was it?"

He hits Sebastian in the shoulder. "Stop," he giggles, though not at all bothered that Sebastian knows how to tease him.

He's grateful their kiss hadn't deterred any of the comfort and ease between them, that they fall right into casual conversation again while his lips tingle, that ache in his chest sets as sure as stone, but it's an ache he appreciates. He can only hope Sebastian feels it too.

An hour later, somewhere close to midnight, Sebastian gets up to leave; Cooper and Charlie are still out and they haven't texted or called, but he wouldn't feel comfortable imposing on their lives any further.

"Thanks for dinner, killer."

He leads Sebastian to the door. "My pleasure."

Their eyes meet and there's more silent dialogue, cue cards that flash in front of both their eyes. _Is this it_? _Is this love_? Sebastian leans in and leaves a kiss behind on his lips, a promise for things to come. And he never fully appreciated how incredibly scary that feels too until he finds Sebastian's eyes again, and he finds that same fear reflected right back. He swallows hard. But Sebastian isn't running away.

"Goodnight, Blaine Anderson," Sebastian says softly. "I'll see you on Monday."

"Goodnight," he whispers, eyes scanning up and down Sebastian's long legs as he walks towards his car, belatedly adding, "Sebastian" in a quiet hush. His heart beats violently at his ribcage, inside his lips, along his tongue and down his throat, his entire body a live wire surging with a special kind of electricity.

_This is how it's supposed to be_.

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_**to be continued**_

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	7. Chapter 7

**author's** **notes:** i know it's been ages, i'm so sorry! school was wayyy busier than expected this past semester, but let's hope the summer affords me some time!

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**(BURNING) ONE HELL OF A SOMETHING;;**

**chapter seven**

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**(day 17)**

On Monday Sebastian sends a car for him, an elegant black town car with tinted windows that screams wealth. He's not too keen on it, the thought of Sebastian spending so much money on him, but he wasn't opposed to the experience of being driven somewhere by a guy in a stylish black hat either. So he luxuriates in it perhaps a little more than he should, draws his fingertips over the hills of the leather seats, explores the gears and buttons and strokes along the outlines of the cup holders, a particular kind of excitement guiding his hands – for the better part of four days now his body had thrummed with an elation unfamiliar to him, ever since he shared a first kiss with his soulmate, the boy he would spend his life with. He whisks his fingers along the curl in his lips. Is this what love feels like, this constant wonderful panic at the center of his chest, his heart racing, a peculiar state of alertness that robs him of hours of sleep and some of his appetite?

Last Thursday night Sebastian robbed him of any sleep at all, so he'd called Tina at 1am, trying four times before his best friend finally picked up her phone. His thoughts raced with the night's events and he wasn't about to tell Cooper he kissed a movie star; no way that would stay out of the tabloids.

"Bling, I love you," Tina had grumbled as if he'd awakened the Kraken, "but this better be good."

He knew better than to interrupt Tina's precious sleep cycles but it all spun circles in front of his eyes; his night with Sebastian, their dinner together, the easy flirtation he had somehow managed to reciprocate, and then that kiss, Sebastian's lips brushing along every insecurity he might've felt, a spark between them he'd been searching for since the moment he laid eyes on Sebastian at his doorstep. Something had happened that night, something he thinks took Sebastian by surprise too. The guarded playboy had enviably showed some of his cards.

"What kind of kiss was it?" Tina's voice had boomed in his ear, her need for sleep disappeared and her excitement taking over, easily mirroring his. "Was it wet or dry, or just right? Was it super slow like in the movies? Similes, Blaine!"

He'd only sighed and replayed the kiss in his mind's eye, over and over, as if his memory had a rewind button that anchored the scene crystal clear. "It was–" He bit at his lip to keep from giggling, and for the first time he used a word Sebastian liked so much. "It was perfect."

It's not a word he's grown to like in his two weeks in Hollywood; Sebastian sounded it every time he impressed him but he scarcely understands what's so special about him, other than the fact that he hasn't been touched by Hollywood in any way other than his favorite movies. He's untouched by the glitter and the glamor, his schedule isn't hectic and he's not attached to any of his electronic devices; he's not a fan of the pace at which the city moves, the same speed that irrevocably animated Sebastian's bones – he counts himself lucky Sebastian finds time to slow down, and that he's one of the lucky few who gets to see him like that. But he has no illusions about today; the photoshoot will take place on Hollywood time, not small town Lima, Ohio. He may not be prepared for what he's about to face.

The kiss, though, that kiss, and the way Sebastian had intimately twined their hands together like a representation of the bond they were forming, he couldn't have dreamed of a more perfect first kiss.

It won't be easy. Sebastian had fallen in love with a boy when he was fourteen years old and for three years Sebastian knew the kind of love he was getting small infinitesimal tastes of, only to have it torn from him. As confusing as his initial reaction to Sebastian's name had been, Sebastian had hoped for another name on the eve of his eighteenth birthday, but the universe rewarded him with a stranger's name, and the boy he loved was ripped away. It must have been horrible. He can't imagine his heartbreak should this still turn out to be one giant hoax, should someone come and pluck Sebastian's name off his wrist.

Because he's fallen for this movie star of his. Of that he's certain.

Los Angeles traffic turns his trip into an hour and a half long drive, not combining too well with his lack of sleep. Sebastian told him there'd be refreshments though, maybe he'd get lucky enough to find a cup of coffee. He wipes sweaty palms down his dark-blue shorts but his heart beats at a slightly calmer pace. It's not like it was before, he has discerned some of Sebastian's inner workings, and now that he understands Sebastian's reticence he can tread more carefully, allow some space for Nick to disappear so that Sebastian can see there's so much more out there for him; there's love and a kind universe and the wait for his soulmate is over. He can't change the past, but he can make sure their future is a whole lot brighter.

The car pulls up to a nondescript building with a plain white façade, only interrupted by the entrance door and Dottie, who starts waving the moment he gets out the car.

"Hey, Dottie, how are you?"

"Good! Busy!" Dottie exclaims, bouncing on her feet as she holds the door open for him. "I'm meeting Charles in a few days."

"That's great news." He falls into step next to Dottie, following her through a small maze of white corridors, a distant buzz of activity coming closer.

"Sebastian gave me some time off. I'm so nervous I could vibrate out of my skin." Dottie takes a hurried breath. "Is that normal?"

"I think so, yeah." He laughs, recollecting the other kind of sleepless nights, the tossing and turning around fantasy scenarios he'd run on repeat the days before his lunch date with Sebastian. His skin still vibrates thinking about it: this isn't a dream, he doesn't have to pinch himself to wake up because he's living his dream. How many people can say that?

"What are your plans?"

"Dinner with our parents." Dottie shrugs. "It's tradition."

For point two seconds his mouth moves around a few questions, if Dottie likes that tradition, if it's something she'd rather step away from like he's seen Tina and Mike do, or if her culture's so ingrained in her upbringing that she truly doesn't mind taking it slow. But they enter a large room that buzzes with activity, dozens of people running around or shouting orders, a small stage set for the photoshoot, lights and cameras and props all at the ready.

And his eyes fall to Sebastian, standing clear across the room.

His heart starts that thing where it runs away with him, teases his soul out of his body and a little closer to Sebastian. It's a lot like falling, maybe even flying.

Sebastian's laugh echoes through the big room, probably at something the guy by his side said. Muscled, blond, and shorter than Sebastian they do look about the same age, and judging by Sebastian's mirth he'd say they're close friends. Sebastian throws an arm around the young man's shoulders and plants a loud kiss to his temple, while he attempts to draw a deep breath into his lungs. He's not going to judge. This is Sebastian's world he's stepping into, he hasn't met a great many of his friends, maybe not any, because he hardly doubts Sebastian considers Hunter a friend. Something tells him Dottie is, though.

Then, Sebastian strips out of his shirt in front of the entire room as if it's no big deal, handing it to the blond and receiving another one: they continue to talk, and smile at each other openly, and a voice at the back of his head whispers that he recognizes this dynamic. It's one he's been on the receiving end of. _Sebastian's flirting with him_.

His mouth moves of its own accord. "Who is he?"

"Adam," Dottie answers. "Sebastian's– stylist."

It's the pause in Dottie's answer that worries him, it's the thought of all those rumors in the tabloids Sebastian said weren't all lies that solidifies the pit in his stomach, the growing dread that today might not turn out how he expected. Who were all those boys Sebastian supposedly slept with, the ones in the magazines, the ones Hunter tried to keep out of the press? They can't all have been celebrities. But he shouldn't think about these things, he decided Sebastian's past wouldn't matter.

"Hey, killer."

He startles at the touch of a hand on his shoulder.

"You excited for today?"

Apprehension flits from his body as his eyes catch green ones, aided by that same gorgeous smile directed at him. Sebastian wouldn't flirt with other boys intentionally; maybe it's how he is, and it's not like he's seen him interact with a lot of other people to know Sebastian through and through.

So he nods, if only to distract from his now noncompliant tongue.

"Come on, there's someone I want you to meet."

With a hand at the small of his back Sebastian directs him to a more secluded area of the big room, cordoned off on three sides with clothing racks brimming with different outfits. Sebastian's cologne smells faintly through an onslaught of hairspray, his body warm in such close proximity, bringing with it every sensation of their last night together. Sebastian's lips brushing along his, tongue teasing at his lips, their hands interlocked...

However his stomach summersaults when he recognizes a face. A reincarnation of beautiful, long side swept curls cascading down her shoulders and back, flawless skin, kind smile. _Quinn Fabray_. Breath catches in his throat and his skin flushes hot. Couldn't Sebastian have given him a little warning? He'd mentioned something about the possibility of meeting Quinn, but he could've used some time to prepare. Or, maybe, have a panic attack in private rather than to her face.

Quinn lovingly rolls her eyes at Sebastian. "Hey, dickhead."

Sebastian beams, and kisses Quinn's cheek. "Hey, jerk."

"You must be Blaine."

His eyes catch in Quinn's hazel ones and he's at a loss for words, heart pounding in his ears, his knees a little shaky. Honestly, it wasn't this bad meeting Sebastian. Who cares that he made himself sick with worry or had sleepless nights leading up to their first meeting? At least he got clear on what he wanted to say, even if it had come out mangled.

"You're so beautiful," he babbles, stumbling a step closer. "I mean– I'm a big fan of your work."

"You're sweet." Quinn smiles, while her stylists move around her like butterflies, making sure her dress is formfitting. "You'll be watching the shoot today?"

He nods, smiles awkwardly, and unconsciously wraps both hands around one of Sebastian's arms for support. How did this become his life? Not only has he met his celebrity crush, _but they're soulmates_, and they've talked about real things that matter. He's stumbled into this fantastically incomprehensible and overwhelming world and he hasn't stopped acting like a fanboy.

A short round man wanders into the cordoned off area, eyes disinterested. "Miss Fabray, they're ready for you in make-up."

His eyes draw down to Quinn's wrist without thinking, where, sure as day, a delicate tattoo reveals a soulmark, a name he can't make out, but he likes that it's there for everyone to see. His hand slides down the length of Sebastian's arm, but all he meets is that same old wristwatch in the way.

Quinn gathers the trains of her dress. "It was nice meeting you, Blaine," she says, and winks. "Maybe we can chat some more later. I'm dying for some gossip on Sebastian."

"You wish, Fabray," Sebastian calls after Quinn, who promptly shows him her middle finger. He chuckles, amazed at the obvious friendship between Sebastian and Quinn; it reminds him a lot of how he and Tina interact.

"Sebastian!" the same short man shouts through the room, clearly less encumbered to be polite.

"You okay?" Sebastian asks, lingering by his side.

He blinks a few times, wresting his hands from Sebastian's arm. "I just met Quinn Fabray."

"Look at you, all star struck. Should I be insulted?"

"No." He pokes at Sebastian's chest. "I had time to prepare for you."

And when Sebastian smiles down at him with glistening eyes his previous worry dissipates; heat starts in his chest and travels up and down his body, Sebastian always a little too close for comfort. Despite Sebastian's obvious reservations he never hesitates pulling closer, physically a lot more comfortable than he is. It's something he has yet to learn.

"I gotta run," Sebastian says, briefly clasping a hand around his shoulder, "but everyone knows you're here, so just find a spot wherever you want. Dottie can get you anything you need." Sebastian's already a few steps away when he turns around again. "Seriously though, if it gets too boring I'll just get Puck to take you home."

"Okay," he breathes. "B– Bye."

The crowd swallows Sebastian up and he's left alone in a bustling nest of people with jobs he can only guess at; he never knew so many people were needed for a photoshoot. There were the obvious ones: hair and make-up, stylists, the photographer, but there were people fiddling with the equipment, people standing around talking on their phones, young people like him and Dottie walking around wearing headsets and fetching drinks. It's a crazy circus without much rhyme or reason, but he guesses most of these people know what they're doing.

A good fifteen minutes later he finally finds his cup of coffee, a whole buffet spread out over a long table for everyone to feast on. From his vantage point he can see both Sebastian and Quinn in make-up, being touched up where the photographer deemed necessary. If you ask him neither of them really need it. Quinn's the first to stand up, three people helping her with her dress until Sebastian gallantly steps in.

He stops breathing once he notices Sebastian isn't wearing his watch for once, and his eyes start scrutinizing his wrist before anyone gets the bright idea of covering it up again.

But there's nothing there.

He stops breathing. That can't be real, can it? Sebastian must've taken one of those pills that make it disappear, or– no, there's no way Sebastian doesn't have a soulmark. If Sebastian doesn't have a soulmark his entire life's dream is a joke, a parody, a good-for-nothing fantasy he might as well never have had in the first place.

Dottie sidles closer to him. "They cover it up for shoots!" she squeaks, clearly tuned into his stationary quiet panic. His eyes skip to the next body, Quinn's wrist now blank too.

_Oh thank God_.

"Have you ever seen it?"

"Not really." Dottie hugs her iPad to her chest. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He sighs, even though it's not. Hasn't he waited long enough? Everyone made a big deal about his soulmark because Sebastian's a celebrity, but isn't his name on Sebastian's wrist equally important? This is kind of a two-way street; Sebastian isn't the only one who gained a soulmate. "He's just really private."

"That's just how he is."

"I wish he'd talk to me, you know? We're supposed to be soulmates."

"He's told you about Nick," Dottie says, her voice soft and sweet and everything he needs right now. She's right, he did somehow get Sebastian to talk about his Broadway sweetheart. He just wishes everything wasn't always so hard. "That's a pretty big deal."

"Are they still in contact?"

"I know Nick's tried over the years."

The nature of Dottie's answer comes as quite a shock: he expected it to be the other way around, Sebastian seeking contact with Nick, trying to recapture something of the love they once shared. But it was the boy happily married to his soulmate that reached out. It sounds a lot healthier and a good talk with Nick might be what Sebastian needs, so why wouldn't Sebastian take that chance?

"Sebastian refuses to talk to him. He calls it a chapter in his life he closed a long time ago."

"But that's not true, is it?

And as Dottie pushes her glasses back up her nose with a single nudge of her index finger, averts her eyes to keep from having to answer, her silence speaks volumes nonetheless.

Maybe Sebastian isn't in love with Nick anymore, only he would know that, but his broken heart had twisted into a bitterness that scares a boy like him, Blaine the Romantic. The soulmark is the way of the world, almost everyone out there had a missing piece of themselves walking around, waiting, longing, searching around every corner to find the one thing that would give their lives true meaning. Yet Sebastian stopped believing, he closes himself off whenever he grows aware he isn't, or when a tiny chink in his armor threatens to undo all his armaments. He can't imagine living like that. He can't imagine becoming so disillusioned that he would ignore the name on his wrist and fall into bed with other people. Sebastian has insulated layers of protection around his heart. And he wants more than anything to unwrap it, trembling hands and all.

He finds a spot near where Sebastian's and Quinn's chairs have been set up, sitting down on some overturned plastic boxes, Dottie close-by. Sebastian and Quinn are already in front of the camera, following the photographer's directions, dicking around with each other, and he can't help but smile. For some reason Sebastian seems more himself around Quinn, a little less controlled; he doesn't just smile but clutches his stomach laughing at her jokes, he makes funny faces when she does, and doesn't take the whole thing all too seriously.

They must be really close friends.

"Blaine Anderson."

His name sounds and before he knows it he's joined by none other than Santana Lopez, sitting down gracefully next to him. She's in comfortable jeans and a tank top, stunning as ever.

She snaps her fingers. "Dottie, can you fetch me a latte and some tea for Sebastian?"

Dottie scurries off in search of the desired items.

"What do you think? Pretty impressive, huh?" Santana asks without pausing for breath. "Sebastian and Quinn look so great together, look at them. So, tell me, how's your time in LA been?"

"Pretty– great," he answers, once he's processed all the information Santana threw at him; she's a whirlwind, but he guesses a person has to be in this industry. "I get to see my brother and sister-in-law too, so that's– great."

"Oh boy, what did he do?"

"Excuse me?"

"Sebastian. What did he do to get you down?"

He frowns. "Nothing."

He's not acting down, is he? It would be great to be able to talk to Sebastian, but he prepared for this scenario; they're on Hollywood time and Sebastian's preoccupied with other things right now.

"We've had some really great dates. This is just different."

"Welcome to Hollywood." Santana gestures dramatically. "My girlfriend's still adjusting too. It's not easy, but it's the place he needs to be for his career."

Santana sounds exactly like Hunter. Of course it's her job to keep Sebastian focused, to fill up his schedules with events and appearances and photoshoots like these, but surely she can see Sebastian needs time to himself too? That's the whole reason he lives secluded in the Hollywood Hills.

"He's not going back to Broadway?"

"No." Santana laughs. "Why? Did he say something?"

"No." He shrugs. "I just get the sense that he misses it."

Santana considers this for a moment. "You know about Nick?"

"Y– Yeah."

Does he really need to keep hearing that name?

"Then you know he's not going back."

No, he doesn't know that, not at all. If Nick's the only thing standing between Sebastian and his return to Broadway then why hasn't Sebastian taken up any of Nick's invitations? Did they really part on such bad terms that they couldn't even talk anymore, that they needed 2000 miles between them just to keep the peace? Nick's attempts at communication would suggest it's Sebastian that forces that distance on them, so could it be his pride stopping him? He won't say Sebastian's unhappy, he does seem to love his job, but Broadway made him happy once too.

Santana leaves him as soon as Dottie returns with the drinks, the photoshoot on break for half an hour. Rather than finding him Sebastian disappears to a room somewhere with Adam, probably for another outfit change.

"Hey, you." Quinn comes over to her chair with a small army of make-up artists in her wake, and she pats Sebastian's chair. "You can sit here, if you like. Sebastian never uses it."

He walks over and sits down, Quinn waving her team away. "You two are pretty close, huh?"

"I guess you could say that." Quinn smiles. "We go back a long way. Both raised on Broadway. He always manages to make me laugh."

He's never seen Sebastian laugh the way Quinn makes him, a true marvel to see, and he would ask for more details if it wasn't for Quinn's next question.

"You'll be good to him, won't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"It takes him a while to let people in, no matter who they are."

A weight drops off his shoulders hearing someone else give voice to what he figured out about Sebastian pretty quickly; it's not just how he is, like Dottie suggested, there's something at the root of it that closed Sebastian off to beautiful opportunities. He won't talk to Nick, he doesn't believe in love, and thinks himself undeserving of it, and that kind of thinking starts somewhere. He doubts it was his home life, Sebastian spoke of his mother and father fondly, but somewhere in a span of years something happened to make Sebastian doubt his heart. If Quinn and Sebastian go back as far as Broadway, this started well before he and Nick ever started dating.

"Do you know why that is?"

"He doesn't really talk about it," Quinn says. "Be patient with him. Don't let him off the hook either, though, too many people do that already."

He manages a small smile, but feels thrown every which way, still on that same unpredictable rollercoaster ride. Sebastian pushes him away but flirts with him, tells him he might not be who he thinks he is but kisses him, flirts with his stylist but looks at him with hearts in his eyes. And he's fairly certain that isn't Hollywood's doing. It's Sebastian's. There's conflict inside that beautiful boy and he wants more than anything to be the one to settle it.

Another hour passes and he wishes he'd brought something to read, maybe that crime novel he'd started on Charlie recommendation. There isn't much to see when Sebastian and Quinn are in front of the camera, let alone when everyone's running around adjusting the lights or adding new props. He knew this would be new to him, he just didn't know it would be boring.

Dottie comes and goes, getting orders for Santana and Sebastian, but other people too. She's trying to keep busy, find some distraction in her work so she's not thinking about her meeting with Charles too much, and he understand that all too well. He talked Tina's ear off about the most mundane things the days before he met Sebastian.

"You must be Blaine," another female voice catches him lost in thought, this time belonging to a tall blonde who gracefully sinks down in Quinn's chair, throwing her hair back. She's wearing a cute tank with bees on them, and a floral skirt. "I'm Brittany, Santana's lover."

His eyes narrow. "You mean her girlfriend."

Brittany rolls her eyes. "Fiancée, if you want to get technical."

"Baby-y-y." Santana runs over and throws her arms around Brittany, transforming into someone else in front of his eyes. Gone is the tough businesswoman on someone else's time and in its place there's a young woman in love.

And there it is. That's who he wants to be to Sebastian. Someone to take away the pressure, offer a breath of fresh air after a stressful day, someone Sebastian can come home to and be himself with, not what Hollywood demands.

"I'm so sorry." Santana pouts. "I meant to call you."

"You're not cancelling on me again, Santana Lopez. I'm not planning this wedding on my own."

"We'll just be an hour. Two hours tops."

Brittany sighs, tugging at the ends of Santana's long raven hair. "I'll wait."

Santana steals a kiss from Brittany's lips. "You're the best. Do I tell you that enough?"

He faces away once it becomes clear that Santana has a lot to make up for, the two women all but making out right next to him. It's an amazing thing to witness though, seeing two women express their love for each other openly without judgment; there's no one in the room that looks at them funny or even thinks about calling them names. What a life that must be, loving whoever you want freely and openly without fear of being called out on it.

Santana eventually wanders off in the direction of the set again, pulling Sebastian aside for a conversation.

"Is he keeping you waiting too?" Brittany asks, knocking their elbows together.

"He invited me."

"You're actually enjoying this?"

"It's pretty exciting," he lies, but grows instantly uncomfortable; does he really want to start lying to people he doesn't even know yet? So he changes the topic. "How long have you and Santana been engaged?"

It proves to be the right question. Brittany's eyes light up and he hears the complete story. As one of Beyoncé's dancers Brittany travelled the world, a thing she was very grateful for because when she was eighteen her soulmark revealed the name Santana Lopez, and surely she'd never find someone with a name so exotic in the US of A. When he asks why she didn't Google the name or sign up for any of the matching services, Brittany huffs and whispers she doesn't trust machines – he's not sure how serious to take her story after that.

One day, when the tour landed her in London, a beautiful Latina gained backstage access for one of her celebrity clients, but the moment their eyes met they both knew; they were meant to be together. Brittany reluctantly adds that Santana later shouted fire and brimstone at her for not signing up to the matching services he'd previously asked about, because they could have found each other a full two years earlier.

But Brittany liked to think they met when they were meant to.

And he thinks that's really kind of romantic.

At the end of the day he's the one who has to go looking for Sebastian. Workers disassemble the set and the lights, while other assistants make sure all the clothes are returned to their designated spots on the racks. Quinn leaves with her assistant and Santana leaves with Brittany, while Dottie took her leave half an hour earlier to pick up some things for Sebastian.

It's been a long day, and he's looking forward to having some time alone with Sebastian.

He finds Sebastian with Adam in the dressing room going over some shots. Their backs are turned to him but they stand pressed together, one of Sebastian's hands gently massaging the back of Adam's neck. His heart grows heavy once again, the touch so affectionate he's tempted to give them privacy, because who wouldn't mistake the two of them as two guys intimately familiar with each other's bodies.

It's one thing to keep hearing about Nick, another to have Sebastian flirt with a guy he's more than likely slept with. He's not proud of the thought, he's more than willing to give Sebastian the benefit of the doubt, but that's hard to do right now.

He clears his throat when neither Adam nor Sebastian seems to notice his presence.

Sebastian turns immediately, a smile nearly ridding all his problems. "Hey, killer. You ready to get out of here?"

He nods again, rubbing at his arm. He can't seem to find the right words to talk to Sebastian today.

"Great seeing you, Blaine." Adam waves. His stomach stirs with nausea. Why did he have to be friendly?

"What do you say we go to the beach?" Sebastian asks, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "At your brother's place? We'll get some burgers. I really need some fresh air."

"Yeah. That sounds nice."

They drive to the beach in near silence, the radio chiming one 90s hit after the other. Sebastian doesn't seem to feel the need to talk, so he stifles his own needs, even though a million questions have started festering at the back of his throat. He'd love to know how Sebastian and Quinn met, if Brittany's story about how she met Santana is in any way true, what Sebastian thinks about Dottie and Charles meeting in such a traditional way. But more than anything, more than the near insignificant things, he wants to ask about Adam. The two of them are obviously still close. He wants to know how close.

Water laps at the shore, the quiet hiss of foam weighing down the grains of sand on the beach. Sebastian works through two burgers like he's been starved for an entire week, while he sits on his hands and bites at his tongue so hard he nearly draws blood. Should he say something? What can he say to start a conversation? Does he even want to talk after being ignored all day? Then again, they're alone now, time has slowed back to its proper pace, but should that be the only time they talk? He's not sure he wants to be one in a succession of compartments Sebastian has divided his life into, there for him whenever whim strikes and expected to wait on him hands and feet; Sebastian hasn't made any such requests of him yet, but after having a looking into his world today he's none too sure he wouldn't.

"You're quiet," Sebastian says, wiping a napkin over his lips, before looking at him sideways. "You didn't have much fun today, did you?"

He averts his eyes, and can't figure out how it is that Sebastian can read him so easily after such a short amount of time – is he that easy to see through? Or is Sebastian simply a master at pretending? He didn't have much fun, even though it was great talking to Brittany and Dottie and seeing a softer side of Santana. But he had little care for the flashy Hollywood lifestyle.

"It was fine." He shrugs. "It was nice meeting Quinn."

Sebastian reaches over and teases a finger behind his ear. "You're a terrible liar, killer."

He ducks out of the way, laughing, "Stop."

"Come on." Sebastian's hand draws down his back, leaving him a tiny shivering mess. What he wouldn't give to be encased in Sebastian's arms right now, safeguarded from the big bad world. "What's wrong?"

"Today was supposed to be about getting to know you," –Sebastian's touch gives him the courage to speak up, to air some of his concerns after he was promised not only a peek inside Sebastian's world, but a glance inside the man himself. They should be able to talk about this stuff if they're ever expected to build a meaningful relationship–, "but I learned more about Dottie and Santana."

"I lead a very hectic life."

"I know that." He nods, caught in the splendor of Sebastian's eyes as the last hint of daylight flits from the beach. "But you've ignored me all day to flirt with one of your stylists."

"What do you want me to say, Blaine?" Sebastian's hand falls away, his eyes fixed on the far horizon, where the sun set half an hour ago. This stylist, this Adam, whoever he is, he means something to Sebastian, and it's clear to both of them that's not something Sebastian hid very well today. He doesn't want Sebastian to hide, he wants the truth, because they can't be anything with secrets standing in their way.

"Adam and I sleep– slept together from time to time," Sebastian confesses. "That's the truth. I don't have time for a relationship, and Adam's not looking for one."

He toughs out the bitterness in his mouth because he asked for honesty in the first place. He knew there were other boys, didn't he? They didn't have faces and Sebastian never admitted to any other, but he knew. Still, the thought of Adam and Sebastian together until very recently, the sight of them flirting today, the thought that Sebastian ignored the name on his wrist to be with someone who wasn't his soulmate – it makes him a little sick.

"But– things are different now, right?"

"Of course." Sebastian sighs as if his question comes as a burden, as if _he is a burden_, and his voice lacks the conviction he so desperately seeks. "It's just– you and me from here on out, right, killer?"

Can he trust Sebastian? How does he know it'll be the two of them alone when he'll go off to college soon and Sebastian lives here in this– this goddamn den of temptation? Every day here has stripped a bit of his enchantment and he's left to wonder if this is what love's supposed to feel like at all. His layers have been steadily peeled away unlike Sebastian's and what is he left with? The same name on his arm, a boy he can't fathom, and a heart stringently bound to that boy.

It's hasn't been the two of them, it's been him wholly committed with pieces of Sebastian floating his way, it's been him and Dottie, him and Brittany, with the lurking shadow of Nick and now Adam looming over their heads. He's never been Blaine Anderson, he's that little half bubble stuck to the big bubble that is Sebastian's life, a satellite orbiting Planet Smythe. He's been _the fraud_, _the kid_, _the soulmate_, but Blaine? Blaine, the Romantic? Blaine, the future teacher? Blaine, the small town boy? He hasn't been anywhere near Sebastian.

He fixes his eyes on Sebastian, determined to get what he's wanted from the beginning. "Let me see it."

Sebastian shifts away and gracefully stands up, shaking his head. "Blaine–"

That same old familiar sense of dread twisters in his stomach. Why won't Sebastian simply show his soulmark? It won't be someone else's name, that doesn't happen, so why does Sebastian run away every time he's ready to come closer?

He clambers up in the sand and stands firm. He's not backing out of this one. "No," he says. "I need to see it."

Sebastian releases a breath, seemingly defeated, while his eyes beg him not to do this, not to shatter whatever illusion he's carried with him his entire life. But Sebastian dutifully takes off his watch, hides it in his pocket, and stretches out his arm for him to see. He trips a tentative step closer, the ocean whispering caution, the breeze egging him onward, tearing his delicate teenage fantasy in half.

He reaches for Sebastian's wrist, eyes falling to black ink, and gets the breath knocked out of his lungs. Instead of his name, instead of the curl of two simple words so exquisitely etched into Sebastian's skin, a different tattoo covers Sebastian's wrist.

A barcode.

"Why–"

Tears blur his vision, the series of stripes phasing into a single black blotch. He already knew Sebastian was a non-believer, but this is a step further. _Sebastian erased his name_. Other celebrities have done it, Sebastian isn't the first, but all those others did it to coax a reaction out of the media. It was a way to subvert the system and rile people up, rebel against a society that dictated they pursue their heart's desires because some invisible power told them to. Most celebrities weren't eager taking orders.

Sebastian wasn't like that, he didn't seek out the spotlight. He never hid who he was, but didn't flaunt his lifestyle either, didn't parade out in front of the paparazzi. In fact, no one even knew about this tattoo as far as he was aware – so why do this? Why cover up his name with something as permanent as a tattoo? There were other options, he could take the pills or tape it off, he could cover it up with make-up or a wristband. But no, Sebastian opted for the most permanent option of them all: he got another tattoo. Did their relationship mean anything at all? Did Sebastian not want his name, had it been too long, had he decided he wouldn't wait any longer? Or worse, did Sebastian buy into the old Hollywood lifestyle, did he simply not feel the need to bind himself to a single person? If that's true he's grateful Sugar started this whole circus in the first place. Sebastian can't ignore him with the entire world watching, their brief relationship under a magnifying glass.

"Why would you do this?" he asks, finding Sebastian's eyes guilt-ridden.

"It was the only way to keep it from the press," Sebastian says, but once again his voice sounds absent conviction. It's not what Sebastian's eyes tell him either, that's not what the past two weeks have taught him. At eighteen Sebastian was in love with someone else, and the simple truth of his name on his wrist wasn't something he could face. He made a mistake, a stupid mistake that has now stolen one of his dreams – he wanted to see his name on someone else's wrist. It didn't matter who, just that it was there, but now–

How could Sebastian do this to him?

"But it said–"

Sebastian strokes a thumb down his cheek, an empty gesture followed by words that shake a sob through his body. "Don't worry, killer. It said Blaine Anderson."

He tracks a step back.

"Why did you ask me to the shoot today?"

"I told you."

"To see part of your life." He nods, and decides to spill truths he's not entirely sure won't hurt Sebastian. Maybe he means to. "But I don't want to know you like this. We're soulmates, Sebastian, but that doesn't mean I want your every past relationship rubbed in my face."

"You're the one who asked me about Nick."

"Because he's still important to you!"

He's so tired of hearing about Nick, precious Nick, _perfect_ Nick – if Nick was so perfect why isn't he here standing between them? Why did Nick choose his soulmate? Why can't Sebastian see his soulmate's standing right in front of him?

"I'm trying to respect that, but you need to move on with your life. Like he did."

"I have moved on. I'm not–" Sebastian frowns, but recovers quickly. "I told you I'm not who you think I am."

So is this it then, Sebastian's the playboy the tabloids make him out to be, the boy who sleeps around and doesn't settle down, who drinks and does drugs. What was he even doing here if Sebastian wasn't looking for a relationship? Why bother bringing him here if Sebastian knew he'd be breaking his heart? Why even put them in the same room together?

Was this Hunter's doing? Santana's? Did they somehow convince Sebastian that they had to meet so that it might look good in the press? Did Sebastian merely indulge his agent and his publicist by going out on dates with him? Was this all a grand stage play he wasn't in on, unscripted but guided by an unseen hand?

Had this been doomed from the start?

How much has Sebastian faked, how many lies has he spun to gain his friendship, his love even, knowing full well they'd reach this point? This isn't how things were meant to end, they were supposed to start from here, but Hollywood poisoned Sebastian's mind after a devastating heartbreak: it made him turn from his beliefs, from love altogether, and convinced him the real thing could be found in specters of the same.

"And I finally understand that now," he says. "So thank you for that."

He balls his hands into fists, nails digging into his skin, and somehow finds the strength to turn around. He won't give Sebastian the satisfaction of his tears; he'll just walk home and break down in his room, far from Hollywood and its deceit.

"Look at you, Mr Politically Correct."

Sebastian's words stop him short in his tracks. Why is this happening to him?

Slowly, he turns to face Sebastian again.

"If you expect everything here to be as black and white as your perfect little Lima, Ohio you're in for a rude awakening," Sebastian says, an anger in his eyes soaked in frustration, an annoyance so deep it sounds bitter and broken; Sebastian has repressed this anger for a long time. "You say my past doesn't matter to you but you've been judging me from the moment you walked through the door. My life's messy, Blaine, and sometimes I get so little time to myself that I feel I might explode. So I find my distractions. I don't need you or anyone else telling me what I should do with my life."

"I'm not."

"But you are!" Sebastian points at him. "You're here with your tattoo and your ideals and you expect me to bow down at your feet. But that's not how it works. Not here, Blaine. Not in the real world."

He doesn't ask, he can't force his lips to form the words, _do you want me?_, playing in the tears right at the edge of his peripheral vision. He has his ideals and he can't change his tattoo, so what does Sebastian want him to say? What does he want from him? Sebastian has been lovely and kind and flirty, they've talked about things neither of them talk about easily while he's also been cryptic and distant and a non-believer. Which one was the real Sebastian? The boy who made him fear he might never achieve his dreams, or the boy who looked into his eyes after they kissed and signaled_, did you feel that too? _

What's this anger inside Sebastian? What are these frustrations? Who are they really directed at?

"Why did you kiss me?"

"Because I wanted to, Blaine." Sebastian sighs. "This world where you and I fall in love at first sight? Doesn't exist. But a world where one guy gets to know the other, they talk, they have dinner. They kiss. That's real."

He crosses his arms over his chest, his shirt scratchy. "But that's–"

"That's not what you want." Sebastian nods. "I know. You can't have what you want with me."

Why not? Why does all this sound so final? Why did Sebastian once tell him he wouldn't be the person he expected him to be? _Why was this happening?_ Sebastian had closed off before but this is different; he's willfully pushing him away this time.

"I like you, but I don't love you."

A tear rolls down his cheek.

"And you think you love me," Sebastian adds. "But do you even like me?"

He doesn't like this, not this part, not the part where Sebastian tears down his dreams with his bare hands and doesn't seem to have any reservations doing so. If Sebastian knows all these things about him, about his soulmate, then why–

Why–

Why–

"Why are you doing this?" he cries.

"You can't build a life around me, Blaine. I'm no good for you."

No. Sebastian was meant to be his Mr Perfect. Not a bitter disappointment.

"You shouldn't build a life around any one person," Sebastian says. "You deserve someone who can give you everything you want, and more, in spite of that tattoo. Because it doesn't mean shit."

"It's _your name_!"

Why doesn't that seem to mean anything to Sebastian? Surely he remembers how important it was to him when he turned eighteen, how important it was to Nick. Yet here he is, taking away the one thing that was once snatched from him. How could Sebastian be so cruel?

Sebastian shrugs, so callous it's like he snaps the strings on a marionette, done with the whole thing. Has he been a puppet on a string? Hunter's, Santana's, Sebastian's? Are they all laughing behind his back?

"And I gave up yours."

He draws in a breath that doesn't quite reach his lungs, tears streaming oceans down his face.

That's it then.

He turns around and starts walking, scooping buckets of sand along with him, but he can't stop now, if he stops he'll fall to his knees and cry for hours, he'll scream, he'll shout to the sky and ask why. What did he do to deserve this? It started out so promising, exciting and crazy like one of those scenarios in the romantic movies he loves so much – and it hasn't been perfect, it's been hard, but that happened in the movies all the same.

But now he knows better, he's felt the painful sting of reality. Hollywood manufactured romantic stories, but there were none to be found within its borders. It was simply celebrities getting away with illicit affairs. The whole soulmate business has been commoditized into a million dollar industry; fans can buy fake tattoos to rub into their wrists, people can take pills to make the soulmark disappear. Hollywood creates the romance everyone dreams about, the romance he's dreamed about, but doesn't actually know what it's doing. Sebastian, like so many others, was merely some big exec's pawn to earn them hundreds of thousands of dollars, if not more.

He pushes through the front door aware that Cooper and Charlie are home. He means to lock it down, the grief spilling through his veins, he means to deal with his own problems like he always has, brave the few yards it takes him to get to his room without breaking down, but it's too hard to hold back when Charlie sounds so worried.

"Blaine?" she asks, "Honey, what's wrong?" and he falls into her waiting arms the way he would his mother's.

"Sebastian doesn't want me," he cries, holding on for dear life, siphoning love and comfort from one of the few people in his life who truly knows what it means to hug – Charlie's hugs are the best.

"What are you talking about?"

"He got another tattoo to cover my name," he says, tears streaming down his face. "He doesn't have feelings for me. All I wanted was love and romance and all I got was a 'no thank you'."

Cooper decides to have a say, "You expected to walk up to him and find that?" but not before Charlie casts him a pointed look.

"Yes!" he says, released from Charlie's arms. "He's my soulmate, Cooper, he's supposed to–"

"Blainey–" Cooper gets up from the couch, walking over to where his wife and little brother would rather not hear any more. His brother needs to learn when to shut up. Why can't he just support him? They're brothers, they're closer than they've ever been, but that doesn't mean he wants Cooper to draw the bottom line.

"He was supposed to look at me and I was supposed to look at him _and know_."

"Blaine, that's not how it works."

"Of course it is," he whispers, his voice lost in a torrent of grief.

But Charlie shakes her head too, drags her fingers through his hair. "No, sweetie."

"That's what happened with you," he cries, every bit the same impressionable toddler. Isn't that what his nine-year old self saw? Or was it just an interpretation, tattered by naïve and young eyes? No, the same thing happened between his parents, between Tina and Mike, it had happened between Brittany and Santana and _they were getting married_.

Charlie cups his face. "The soul bond helps, but relationships are a lot of work. Coop and I had our problems." Charlie and Cooper share a smile. "_Have_ our problems. You and Sebastian lead different lives. Give it some time."

He shakes his head. "I don't think I can."

Giving it time would presume Sebastian's still interested in salvaging this, but he made it clear _he gave up_ what they might have had a long time ago, long before the two of them even met. Where does he go from here? Does he just consign his dreams to the ether, where they may slowly dissipate until nothing is left? Does he go to college with Tina and _move on_? People don't simply move on, Sebastian's proof enough of that, he did the same thing to him Nick did in no uncertain terms four years ago, _how does Sebastian live with himself_? If Sebastian knows him that well, figured him out the moment they met, why would he insist on breaking his heart like this?

There are too many questions, and his heart's sore from all the painful words Sebastian spoke on the beach, all meant to cut and bruise and make him so angry he wouldn't want to talk things through. He doesn't know whether Sebastian succeeded or not.

The story wasn't meant to end here.

Where is his happy ending?

.

.

_**to be continued**_

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	8. Chapter 8

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(BURNING) ONE HELL OF A SOMETHING;;

chapter 8

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**(day 21)**

Four days pass in a blur of endless trains of thought he can't disentangle. Clamminess has set in the sheets, his pillow cried salty, and as he exits the bathroom after what seems like his first shower in weeks, it dawns on him he's barely spoken to anyone. Tina started texting after her calls went unanswered; he didn't trust his voice to hide any pain or contempt, but she more or less know what happened. Or she would if he had any idea himself. Tina joined him in his anger, ready to kill Sebastian should he say the word, exactly like a best friend would.

Cooper tried to have an honest heart-to-heart the day after the photoshoot, to little avail; he could only hear _give it time_ or _everything will fall into place_ so many times before it became the trite thing it started out as. Words his brother and the people in his life wielded too often. Much to his relief Charlie hadn't done him the same discourtesy. She made sure he ate enough, forced him out of bed for every meal, even though he never ate much. His stomach growled, his body longed to be clean, but he did not grant its wishes.

His days stretched into what felt like months, morning his winter, noon his summer seasons, and come dusk a fall back underneath the sheets. He's sat outside by the pool, feet dangling in the water, staring at an unfixed point in the distance, the reflections in the water animating his face. He'd taken a walk along the beach, hoping the fresh ocean air might clear his head, but the nondescript footprints in the sand resembled his and Sebastian's too closely, the memories created there too painful to recollect. So he's remained indoors for the most part, lying around, reading words that don't register, trying his best to be okay when he knows he's not. His heart broke that day on the beach, and he's certain he can feel the sharp shards of it swishing around in his chest every time he moves.

He hasn't heard from Sebastian at all; no phone call, no text. Nothing. Which should tell him exactly how definitive their conversation was.

At night, old nightmares surfaced; on the morning of his eighteenth birthday his arm misses a soulmark, and he travels through life shunned by society, rejected by his parents, his brother, his friends. Unloved for all his days. Sometimes the face in the mirror turned into Sebastian's. For some reason or other. And every morning since that night his nightmares have left him weak, alone and rejected, because even though he wakes to the sight of Sebastian's name on his wrist, he's quickly reminded he rejected him too. Sebastian doesn't want him; not to love, not to have a relationship with. Maybe Sebastian doesn't even want to be his friend.

Day four of his emotional exile Charlie settles next to him by the pool. She'd been on her feet all morning making phone calls to her assistants, pacing the room while she detailed how she wanted the set to look and what pieces to order, what cameras to have close should she want to switch it up during the shoot. Charlie hasn't left the house in four days either and remains by his side to make sure he doesn't sink too deeply into an inescapable bout of depression, but the day of her photoshoot nears, and she won't be able to watch him every moment of the day. He knew the silent agreement between them couldn't last, that eventually he'd have to talk to someone about what happened, and if that someone couldn't be Sebastian, Charlie might just be the next best thing. There are things he's wanted to ask his brother and Charlie, there are things he wishes they could teach him about all this, things he wants to scream, and things he hopes he never has to learn. He's that boy again who knows any talk of soulmates should be left to grown-ups, that it's a rite of passage he isn't privy to yet and all the magic will only make sense to him once he's old enough to understand.

He's not that boy anymore, and he is old enough. Yet he doesn't understand anything anymore.

"You said you and Coop had problems."

A good twenty minutes have passed since Charlie sat down.

"We still do." Charlie rubs over her belly. "He's afraid he won't be a good dad."

He can scarcely imagine what fear would look like on his brother, if it could be more than the fidgeting hands and ducking gaze he'd witnessed his first days in LA, or if that could result in shouting matches, giving Charlie the silent treatment – he can't picture it, but he'd already gathered he'd only ever seen the outside gleam of his brother's marriage, not the inner mechanics of what made a real relationship. Did all couples fight? He's never seen his parent argue; did they do that behind closed doors too? Maybe what he and Sebastian are going through wasn't that strange after all; but Sebastian consciously pushed him away nonetheless.

"But you wouldn't have–"

He can't feel his way around the depths of this, around the magnitude of what it means to be in a long-lasting committed relationship. Sebastian obviously could; he'd been in a committed relationship long before his soulmark even appeared, a relationship that marred his views on love and happiness.

"I mean– You guys love each other."

"Very much," Charlie assures, her smile imbued with her love for Cooper, all the quiet moments he's seen them share from his own point of perception; how can that beautiful couple sidled up to each other on the porch ever yell at each other? How is it possible that he's seen so much and so little at the same time? "But relationships take more than love. You need patience and understanding. Sometimes you have to compromise and get angry, or even hate each other for a little while."

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe Sebastian had made up his mind long before he arrived, and there's no point even thinking about this. Maybe he never stood a chance. Maybe Nick ruined Sebastian long before he grew up. Maybe Sebastian wants to hurt him the way he'd been hurt. He stares down at his hands. "I thought it would be easier."

"You're eighteen years old, Blaine." Charlie reaches for his hand. "You've never had a boyfriend."

"I'm not naïve," he answers sharply, even though that might be exactly the problem; his eyes are closed to the possibility that he'll have to fight for a relationship with Sebastian, that it'll never be easy as long as Sebastian refuses to let him in or consider the possibility that there's something between them. He's carried this ideal with him for so long it's ingrained in his DNA. But one look into a soulmate's eyes isn't all it takes, apparently. Not for them.

"I didn't mean–"

"You think I should fight for Sebastian?"

He cuts off Charlie's reply, too embarrassed about losing his cool. Charlie's trying her best to help, which is more than he can say for anyone else; Tina shared his anger, Cooper failed to understand his grief, and in his pride he'd kept his fight with Sebastian from his parents, like he'd done the whole ordeal with Karofsky. He hasn't learned from his mistakes, he hasn't talked about his feelings, he's the same scared boy waking up from nightmares that tainted his biggest dreams with the most deep-seeded fears. Only the question has changed: _what if no one will ever love me?_ has now spun into _what if my soulmate doesn't love me?_

He doesn't know what it's like to be in love, if it should be more than his quickening pulse whenever he lays eyes on Sebastian, if it should encompass more than being able to decipher some of Sebastian's inner workings. There are so many facets to Sebastian he can barely fit them all together in the same puzzle, the edges somehow never matching up: Sebastian likes him, but pushes him away; Sebastian calls him perfect, but points out his flaws; Sebastian values his innocence, but condemns him for it too.

"Doesn't have to be now," Charlie answers. "Doesn't have to be for another few years. Just follow your heart."

Charlie urges him to grow, to learn, to figure things out away from Sebastian so he might recognize real love when he finds it. But how can he simply walk away? What if he misses the opportunity to break through Sebastian's walls while he still can? Then again, what if staying will make things worse?

No, he can't tell what his heart is saying anymore.

Charlie leaves him to his own thoughts again soon after.

His ambitions didn't include Hollywood, not the way it once had Cooper's and Charlie's, and finally seeing it with his own two eyes hadn't changed his mind. Even if Sebastian had somehow reciprocated his feelings right away he would've still gone to college in two weeks; soulmate or not, he won't skimp on his education. Personally he preferred the idea of the East Coast, where the seasons lay clearly delineated, where he could wear thick sweaters during the winter months, catch snow on his tongue, and still trot around in shorts in the summer. New York had seemed like a far-off dream when he was a kid, with its broad streets filled with life, its Broadway musicals and mix of cultures, but it inched closer and closer in the years that went by. Does he give up that dream because Sebastian lives in Los Angeles? Or should he be selfish and chase his dream, leave Sebastian behind the way Nick had? It wouldn't be the same, but wouldn't he be betraying himself too, in a way?

"Blaine?" Sebastian's voice cuts through his thick cloud of thoughts, and in his surprise he kicks out a leg, splashing water everywhere.

"Sebastian," he breathes, scrambling upright, nearly toppling into the pool as he does so. He takes in the man –_boy_– in front of him and swallows hard, his hands undecided on where to settle, much like his eyes, which tick down Sebastian's shy and awkward smile, down his slumped shoulders, down to where one of his hands picks nervously at the other. The barcode tattoo covered by his watch on the inside of his wrist.

"I hope you don't mind." Sebastian rubs at his chin. "Your sister-in-law let me in."

He blinks, heart stuttering an offbeat tune. _And I gave up yours_ rings in his ears until it drives him deaf, an infectious buzzing at the back of his head that taints everything he thought he felt for Sebastian. The choice in words had been precise and calculated, like a surgeon's steady hand cutting into flesh, avoiding major arteries, but causing bleeding all the same. Sebastian had meant to hurt him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I didn't want to leave things the way we–" Sebastian sighs, scratching the back of his head as he stutters, "The way I–", every bit the boy he thought he'd fallen in love with, lodged in between all the parts of the man Hollywood made him into. A fake man. "I was too hard on you. I know there isn't anything I can say to–"

He crosses his arms over his chest, shrinking in the hopes that'll make him a less likely target, or at least a smaller one.

"I don't regret what I said," Sebastian says concisely, and his eyes shoot up to catch the intense green ones now intent on his face. His throat closes up around the lack of an apology. He couldn't speak even if he tried. That night on the beach Sebastian showed all his darkest colors, told him what he wanted to hear until he couldn't keep up the lie anymore and shot him down where he stood. In some masochistic twisted way it's almost reassuring not to get an apology: he might not understand where it all came from, what was at the root of Sebastian's anger and disillusionment, but at least he knew where they stood. Unloved. Rejected. He may as well have no soulmark at all.

"But I am sorry for the way I said it."

He cast down his eyes, reluctant to give Sebastian the satisfaction of even an inch of relief. Maybe it's not giving Sebastian enough credit, he's here for a reason after all, but he won't be lured in only to be hurt again. He may be naïve, but he's not stupid. Reaching down for his towel he dries off his feet, Sebastian watching him in silence, both of them seemingly at a complete loss for words. What exactly should he say? That Sebastian hurt him more than he could ever say, or that he suspects that was his intention in the first place? That Sebastian's gotten so lost in his own industry's way of doing things it's poisoned him? That's what he wants to say, all the things that make him shake with anger where he stands, he wants to spit it all out, and ask why, and how, and where this all traced back to. Because surely something must have happened to make Sebastian believe he doesn't deserve to be loved.

He toes back into the house before he runs his mouth, his hands balled into fists by his side while the quiet shuffle of Sebastian's tread accompanies him inside. That silence should reassure him the way Charlie's had, a certain awareness in Sebastian's quiet, but the moment his eyes catch on the couch where they'd spent most of their third date –if that's what he can call it–, despair replaces his anger.

Had they not shared something?

"Can I buy you dinner?" comes Sebastian's tentative question.

He turns around slowly, Sebastian shrunk an inch smaller too, and it's a true feat he manages not to acquiesce Sebastian's every wish. "I'm not really hungry."

The corners of Sebastian's mouth sink down, but the taller nods, a little hope left in his eyes when he asks, "Talk, then?"

It's everything he wants and more, give Sebastian the opportunity to explain in whatever space he allows, to reach some sort of status quo. They haven't been on the same page from the start, it's clear they want different things out of this relationship; _Sebastian isn't looking for a relationship_ for one. But he didn't think he'd have the opportunity to be alone with Sebastian again and suddenly it's all too heavy, the stifling weight of the room too much to carry, Charlie no doubt listening in the next an intrusion into something he's kept mostly to himself.

"Not here," the words leap from his lips, the palms of his hands sweaty.

But he needs Sebastian and him to be alone for a while.

He shouts a goodbye to Charlie, who either doesn't hear or continues to respect his privacy, and soon he's seated next to Sebastian in the Ford Mustang convertible, the red a reflection of the wound in his chest, still leaking hurt.

"I saw you and Quinn talking the other day," Sebastian says, in what he assumes is an attempt to abate some of the awkwardness between them. "She give you any dirt on me?"

"She told me not to let you off the hook too easily," he answers, his voice sharp again, in his own honest attempt not to let Sebastian get away with diminishing anything that happened. What's done is done, and Sebastian can't undo what he did or said, so he's quite determined to milk the full extent of his upset. "Because enough people do that already."

Sebastian licks his lips, eyes tripping along the horizon as if they're being watched.

Anger doesn't suit him, much like it mismatches Cooper's skin.

Quinn also said Sebastian doesn't let people in easily, no matter who they are, and even though Quinn couldn't tell him why he suspects a great many people in Sebastian's life are tempted to pick at the scab covering that wound, uncover something of the boy hugging his knees close to his chest, the same shivering mess other people become when they're scared. Maybe that's what it is at the end of the day; Sebastian's as afraid as the rest of them, no different than anyone else. That deserves a conscious effort on his part not to start another fight.

He stares down at his hands, folded together in his lap. "How long have you known her?"

"We met when we were eight," Sebastian says, shrugging. "Broadway kids."

It's no more information than he got from Quinn already, but he hopes a little more patience might pay off, might show Sebastian that he's been genuinely interested in getting to know him from the start, even though Sebastian would have it the other way around. Has he treated Sebastian like a prize he'd won at a fair, held to the same standards Hollywood demands of him? Had he somehow given Sebastian the impression that he was only allowed to be The Star, the Golden Boy, perfect on the outside with nothing at his core? Maybe he had. His expectations were sky-high before he even met Sebastian, gradually lowered over the past few weeks.

Oh God. Maybe he'd never treated Sebastian like a real person, in his fantasy or in their meetings. Sebastian's put him on this pedestal of perfection, untouched by the hush and rush of Hollywood, while he's raised Sebastian even higher. He's worshipped the idea of a soulmate for as long as he can remember; combined with his star struck crush on Sebastian, how could he not be blinded to what Sebastian really needed? Someone to treat him like a real person.

"Quinn's the closest thing I have to a best friend."

"You don't have a best friend?"

"Thought I did. A long time ago."

The name lies loose on both their lips, but Sebastian doesn't say it, and frankly he's tired of the mere suggestion; he can't keep hearing about perfect Nick, about best friend Nick, boyfriend Nick, soulmate wanted-it-to-be-Nick. It's clear Nick made his choices four years ago. Why can't Sebastian?

"Guess that makes Quinn the next best thing," Sebastian says, the same old pinnacle of bitterness and frustration, like there's a veneer of lies welded gently around everything he says, the rust of Hollywood oxidizing around his life.

"She reminds me of–" Sebastian's voice weakens, the one thing Sebastian never seems to mention dissipated between a memory and reality, and he blinks up in the surprise at the cloaked mention of it—the name 'Nick' nowhere near his mind. Sebastian's torn the same way he is, between a life he wants but one cruelly ripped away, one tainted by heartbreak, and a distant dream he could have.

It isn't Nick Sebastian misses. It's Broadway.

Quinn reminds him of all the good parts of Broadway, whereas Nick merely serves to remind him of what he lost. So maybe Quinn can't be a best friend, maybe it's yet another layer of protection Sebastian needs to keep from falling apart. He understands that all too well; he never talked to anyone about being bullied by Karofsky, figuring he could solve his own problems in his own way. In the end, that didn't prove to be the best course of action. He wonders if it is for Sebastian.

These moments they share are so few, so painfully fleeting that he wishes he could bottle them; he hasn't seen Sebastian open up often, their conversations have rarely ventured there, but this makes him want to know Sebastian. Who wouldn't want to be the one Sebastian shares his most intimate thoughts with? He could listen to Sebastian for hours and hang on his every word.

"Would you go back? To Broadway?" he asks carefully. Four years seems like a long time to get over a break-up, but what does he know? According to Sebastian he's in love with the idea of him, and every moment that passes he fears Sebastian might be right. If he's only ever considered Sebastian as the ideal soulmate, if he never considered the real boy hiding behind all those walls, then what does he know about love? He might as well be Blaine The Romantic, a naïve eighteen-year-old boy, in love with a fantasy.

"I guess." Sebastian shrugs too callously. How often does Sebastian feel the need to pretend, to erect a wall of indifference between him and others so they won't gleam a hint of the truth? Sebastian misses Broadway, but he's afraid to admit it.

And he would say Sebastian doesn't have to be afraid of something he's proven he can handle, if not for his own fear of sounding too naïve.

Silence blankets the rest of the twenty-minute drive, wind wheezing in his ears, the sun warm on his face, his heart a frightened mess in his chest. What could they possibly talk about that won't break his heart all over again?

Thandie runs over barking and starts pawing at his legs the moment they set foot in the house, licking his fingers when he tries to scratch behind her ears. The picture of Nick he'd noted on his first visit still hides behind the others, tucked strategically out of sight yet present nonetheless, and he starts to doubt his own convictions. Perfect or not, he can't compete with an idea, with someone who hurt Sebastian but somehow still earns his affections.

Sebastian must catch him staring.

"I am over him," comes his voice, soft and secure. He turns around to face Sebastian, an animal caught in headlights, leaving a veritable canyon of space for him to say more. "I won't say the experience changed me for the better." Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest. "But I'm not hung up on what might have been."

_Aren't you?_ he means to ask, but Sebastian's been known to shut down at such questions.

"You don't talk to him anymore."

Sebastian's eyes set in the distance for a few seconds as he contemplates his answer, but that, too, reflects a depth of conviction he's never heard him voice. "A choice I made for myself. One I had every right to make," Sebastian says, wandering a step closer. "You don't have to let people hurt you, Blaine. You're allowed to cut people from your life."

Rolling back his shoulders it's almost painful how he never thought of it that way, how Sebastian may sound bitter or petty but ultimately made a choice that benefited his mental health. Who's he to question that? If Sebastian's at peace with his decision, and it's ultimately Broadway that he misses, maybe he's misjudged Sebastian from the start; Sebastian hasn't shown him all his cards, but he hasn't shown enough interest in the deck for him to open up.

"You hurt me," the words escape him involuntarily, never before this small in Sebastian's presence, so frail, so breakable. Should he cut Sebastian from his life? Should that be a decision he makes now to protect his heart, to protect his beliefs, to protect his love for love? Sebastian made his feelings clear; he likes him, but he doesn't love him, and Sebastian doesn't believe he can already say in any definitive way he loves him in return. He believes in soulmates, he cherishes the tattoo on his arm in ways Sebastian never has. He will never stop believing in the magic of that.

"I'm not sure that wasn't my intention." Sebastian's hands settle in his pockets, eyes cast down to the floor in shame. "Charming as I can be, I can be an asshole too."

His mouth goes dry, pulled in every possible direction once again at the sight of all of Sebastian's different facets; the charmer didn't negate all the bad parts like the bad parts don't taint the fact that they hit it off, that they kissed and felt something, shared something in the sparse space between their bodies that hinted at a deeper connection. Maybe it wasn't love. Not yet. But it was something. It's the space of that something that needs to be explored; now, later, years from now... all he knows is that they can't leave things the way they are.

"Maybe–" he starts, conceding higher ground he never really had, "maybe we can order in?"

It's worth Sebastian's smile alone. "Okay, killer. Pizza?"

"Sounds great."

"You're not one of those people who have pineapple on their pizza, right?" Sebastian toes backwards towards the kitchen counter, hips swaying like a dancer's, a clear and teasing lilt in his voice before he unearths a takeaway menu from a drawer.

He feigns insult. "I'm not a monster."

The soft smile Sebastian offers shouldn't make his skin buzz, the way his eyes caress down the length of his body shouldn't set his bones on fire with want for a body he's been told he can't have – how often he's thought about it in playful fantasies before his eighteenth birthday, of tracing his fingertips between the dozens of freckles littered down Sebastian's torso, his lips following in their wake and his hand would sneak beneath the covers to fulfill a dark and heavy need. Sebastian can't keep looking at him like that, shouldn't look at him like that if he's meant to take the words he spewed a few nights ago at face value. Because Sebastian gave up his name, gave up on them before the concept had been born in his own teenage mind, before he'd even developed a crush on the big Hollywood star.

Sebastian's eyes betray a duality his arguments skillfully hid, a boyish innocence he can't give himself over to, for whatever reason.

He averts his eyes and tries to settle his body, but he can't seem to escape the implications of all that, of Sebastian purposefully pushing him away. What for? Who told him long before Nick ever came along that he stood no chance of finding love? Why did Sebastian become so convinced of that once he lost Nick?

He sets off down a hallway in search of a bathroom where he might splash some water in his face, but quickly becomes distracted by more of Sebastian's mom's artwork decorating the walls, accents of her dotted all throughout the house. His feet carry him upstairs, small paintings interspersed with bigger ones, a statue here or there, even some plants in the two guest rooms. All Sebastian's personal photos seem to be confined to that one cupboard downstairs in the living room, yet his mother's touch carries everywhere, even the master bedroom, the wall behind the king-sized bed dominated by a large painting full of lively colors. Colors the rest of the room lacks, drawing even more attention to the artwork. He'd already marveled at the way Sebastian had spoken about his mother, how clearly his love for his parents shone through his stories, and this underscores it all the more. It also adds another puzzle piece among the many others he can't make fit.

"You're not getting any ideas, are you, killer?" Sebastian wanders into his field of vision, crossing his feet at the ankles as he tips a shoulder against the doorframe, a soft smile playing around his lips.

Somehow, he manages to laugh. "No."

But as Sebastian asks the question, and his eyes skip to the meticulously made bed, he wonders how many boys have tumbled in those sheets, whose hands have snuck beneath the covers and touched themselves, touched Sebastian. Maybe Adam has been in there, too. Before he came to LA he'd been convinced Sebastian's past wouldn't matter, but Sebastian had been right: he's been judging him, whether unconscious or not he hasn't been comfortable knowing Sebastian's been with other people, even though his father had been before meeting his mother, even though some of his friends had been before their eighteenth birthday. He really has been in love with an idealized version.

"What are you thinking?"

He's too embarrassed to give voice to his thoughts, he already heard Sebastian's opinion on it, but his mind raced with so many questions. "Have your parents asked about me?"

He's never lost Sebastian's attention faster; his eyes skip to his mother's artwork on the wall, down to the floor. Would Sebastian's parents approve of what he's doing? Would they tell him to push him away, or fight for him, the way Charlie told him to? Maybe Dottie's traditions weren't such a terrible idea after all, their parents first discussing everything before two soulmates met, planning careful meetings under their parents' watchful eyes. If his parents were here they might have told him not to get too lost in his dreams. What would Sebastian's parents have told him?

"Of course," Sebastian answers, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast. "I'm sure your parents have asked about me."

They haven't really. He's done things his own way since he was a young boy, and his parents often gave him the time and space to figure things out for himself. It's been no different with Sebastian; they trust him to make the right choices. But he could use some parental guidance right now.

"You said your parents fell in love the moment they saw each other."

The moment Sebastian told him that a glimmer of hope had brightened all the darker patches he figured they'd face; the media circus, the time apart while Sebastian shot his movies and he went to school, the paparazzi. Now it doesn't sound all that hopeful anymore.

"That's not–" Sebastian closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, stuttering his way through a maze of scattered thoughts. "It's not the same as– We're not–"

Sebastian's quite literally saved by the doorbell downstairs, and as the taller releases a sigh of relief his hope follows him out of the room. There'd been no hint of any issues when Sebastian talked about his parents, and his mom's fingerprints all over the house made that unlikely. So what's going on? How is the way Sebastian's parents met and fell in love at first sight any different than any other soulmate story? Any other story but theirs, anyway.

Downstairs Sebastian has set up the coffee table with some plates and two drinks, and he settles on the couch without much hesitation. There's an odd optimism to Sebastian's movement, a confidence he's exuded from the day they met now underlain with an expectation – maybe it's his imagination, maybe Sebastian does hope they can talk through whatever terrible things have been said. Or revealed.

"Why did you choose that tattoo?" he asks carefully, sitting back.

"Isn't that what soulmarks are?" Sebastian answers without thinking, "A set of–" but he catches himself before his tone can veer into insensitivity again. Sebastian's been careful in his choice of words since he showed up at the house, and the effort alone earns his gratitude. He wants Sebastian to be honest with him, but there are different ways of doing that. "It tells us how to live our lives."

"And you don't like people telling you what to do?"

"I can take orders, if that's what you're implying." Sebastian smiles. "Kind of hard not to with Santana as my agent."

"You ever disobey Hunter?"

Sebastian laughs. "That's just good fun."

He stares down at the plate in his lap, picking a black olive off the melted cheese.

"I wanted Nick's name when I turned eighteen, even though–" Sebastian takes a deep breath, rubs at his forehead, something deeply upsetting left unsaid the same way he'd omitted something about his parents. Was Sebastian keeping another secret? What was it that he held so tight to his chest, locked up so deep that it merited chasing away his soulmate?

Sebastian sinks deeper into the couch cushions, and takes off his watch, drawing the tips of his fingers over the barcode tattoo on his wrist. "When it wasn't I had the bright idea to get this." He shrugs. "Something kids do to act out."

He sets his plate on the coffee table and sits back, his shoulder brushing Sebastian's, two kids in cahoots; he's not sure he likes to be seen as a kid, innocent and naïve, by Charlie or Sebastian. But maybe that's exactly what he is.

"Safe to say my parents didn't approve."

"You wouldn't do it again?"

"No." Sebastian turns his head. "If only not to hurt you."

He smiles softly, quietly appreciative of Sebastian's answer, even though he'd probably repeat the same mistakes. It's human to. "You're wrong, you know?" he hazards to say, aware of how close their bodies sit pressed together, of how he can smell Sebastian's skin and see every shift in his beautiful green eyes, how unguarded Sebastian's allowing himself to be. "Soulmarks aren't orders."

"Aren't they?"

For once he's not keen on getting upset about Sebastian's callous questions. They're talking, that's something, and he still wants to peel back the layers around Sebastian's heart. "Why do you say things like that?"

"People expect us to be together," Sebastian says. "Society expects us to be together. When is it ever about two people anymore? We live in the 21st century and we let–" Sebastian contemplates his choice in words carefully, "–_magical tattoos_ dictate our lives."

"No, we don't," he answers disconcerted, but knows all too well it's the way of the world; more so anywhere else than it seems to be in Hollywood, where stars hide elicit affairs behind the Privacy Act. Anywhere else, American culture, Asian cultures, everywhere else in the world people live and die with soulmarks on their wrists. All except those unlucky few who never got one. Unless those really are just stories to scare little children.

"No?"

"No, we don't." He sits up, staring at Sebastian over his shoulder, his unease cementing between his shoulder blades. Their world lived and breathed around the existence of soulmarks, that's how it is and always has been. Just because Hollywood perverted that into a different way of thinking doesn't mean he should believe that too. "We still have our own lives, why would you–"

Sebastian sits up right alongside him, pushing impossibly closer until all he can see is the green of his eyes. A breath catches in his throat. "What if I asked you to stay?"

He frowns.

"Instead of going to Brown," Sebastian explains, "What if I asked you to stay?"

There's a clear challenge in Sebastian's green eyes, not so much making a point about people in general but about him specifically. Because he thinks he would stay, should Sebastian really mean it. He'd sacrifice his other dreams and ambitions for this one, for his soulmate, and–

He casts down his eyes.

And that's not healthy. It's exactly what Sebastian had pointed out on the beach, in much harsher terms than these, but the same point stood. He would build his life around Sebastian if he stayed, he'd surrender his own dreams, give up his ambitions, and he'd end up resenting himself and maybe even Sebastian. Soulmates don't stop being individuals once they find each other.

"I know it's not what you want to hear."

He scoffs, but there's no real power behind it. "I'm naïve, I get it."

"Blaine," Sebastian calls softly.

Yes, he's naïve, he can't decipher his heart's desires and Sebastian makes it even harder; how can he be these two people, the charming boy he talks to easily, and the disillusioned man who won't be loved. Somehow, they don't seem part of the same puzzle.

"Blaine."

He looks up into Sebastian's eyes, overwhelmed by their warmth.

"That's not a bad thing." Sebastian's breath tickles along his lips. "That innocence is something you should cherish. You won't find that in a lot of places."

And when he leans in he falls into Sebastian the way he had before, though this time it's not so much falling as it is flying, towards someone he –for some reason– can't have. His lips touch someone's out of reach, and Sebastian freezes for a fraction of a second, his brain processing what happened before he, too, gives into the kiss; Sebastian's body gives and folds towards his, a hand at his waist coaxing him closer while his hesitantly reaches up for Sebastian's face, five o'clock shadow pleasantly rough to the touch.

He couldn't say what comes over him, what gives him the courage to lick along Sebastian's lips and draw him closer, until Sebastian uses his height to sink into something deeper, tongue caressing the roof of his mouth, a content moan at the back of his throat. It's the same tentative and slow kiss they shared before with more heat behind it, so much more at stake now that he can feel Sebastian slowly but surely rejecting him. His fingers wind through Sebastian's hair, a whimper tumbling from his lips when Sebastian's fingers dig into his hip, but Sebastian's body wavers soon after.

"Blaine." Sebastian pulls back, sidling his hand down to his chest, where his heart beats underneath more layers than he can pierce through. "I can't."

Another few seconds and he could've convinced Sebastian this was worth sticking out, it deserved a try from both their sides, because that same feeling's there again, and Sebastian felt it too. It's in the intensity of his eyes, still lingering on his lips, and the red of his slightly swollen lips, in his erratic heartbeat and the fingers grabbing around his waist. Gravity makes them gravitate towards each other, even after their fight on the beach; Sebastian came back for a reason, for the something in the space between them. He might not be able to name it, but it's real, and if that's real, why can't he have it? Why can't Sebastian be with him?

Maybe he's too afraid of the commitment, maybe he's gotten so used to making choices for his mental health that he can't allow himself to be hurt again. Even if he has no intention of hurting Sebastian. If anything, Sebastian's hurt him.

His fingers burrow into Sebastian's chest, as if he could reach below the bone and tear through the separate layers with his bare hands. "Is there no hope at all for–" The words lodge at the back of his throat as he catches Sebastian's eyes again, torn the same as his. _Can you love me?_

"I don't want you to–" Sebastian stutters again, words caught in the same place his are. There's something here, but they both know he doesn't have the patience to wait for it, and Sebastian can't give it to him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Sebastian has lied and keeps secrets from him still, for reasons that remain his own.

"–build a life around you," he fills in the blanks, sniffling. "Right."

"I don't have your answers, killer," Sebastian adds solemnly. "Never did."

Maybe Charlie was right, his answers lay with his own ambitions for the moment; Brown, a dorm room he can share with Tina, the education he worked extremely hard to attain. Maybe even another boy, for a while. He hopes beyond all hope that all it takes is a different focus, heaps of patience he has yet to find, and Sebastian will come to him. But hope seems a rare commodity since he came to LA.

Sebastian wipes at a tear he wasn't aware he'd shed. "I'm sorry, Blaine Anderson."

He nods. He can't speak. If he does he'll cry.

Sebastian draws him closer and pushes a kiss to his forehead. More than anything he thinks it's a goodbye.

.

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**tbc**

_._


	9. INTERLUDE I

**author's notes: **by popular demand, a little scene from Sebastian's POV without giving away a damn thing. let the theories abound!

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(BURNING) ONE HELL OF A SOMETHING;;

INTERLUDE I

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**(day 1656)**

"You are a fucking idiot!"

He narrowly avoids getting hit in the face by whatever it is Santana chucks at him –her cellphone, he guesses, it wouldn't be the first time– and watches it shatter on the floor, the carpet barely dulling the sound. It's the third phone she's broken in his vicinity in the four years they've worked together and he's deserved every single one, though he did wish she showed a little restraint.

He sighs, one hand covering his face, the other reluctant around a glass of scotch—it's never been his drink, he doesn't drown his sorrows with alcohol, but he hoped it might chase away the taste of Blaine's mouth, of his lips, of the memory of the skin-to-skin contact even though he'd pursued it all the same. He hates that he gave in, first to the idea of mending broken fences, then to Blaine's desperate kiss, and now he's fighting the urge to see Blaine one last time, before he gets on a plane back to Lima, Ohio, where he'll forget all about him. It's what he needs to tell himself to get through the next moment, the next hour, the next day, knowing he broke Blaine Anderson's heart.

"Calm down."

"Don't you tell me to calm down." Santana trots over to him, her heels ruining the floorboards. "I was enjoying a perfect R-rated morning with my girlfriend and I get a call from Hunter saying–"

"He was going off the college either way." He looks up, defies Santana head-on because he can't hear this right now. He's all too aware of what he did, how he did it and how stupid it may prove to be, but he can only follow his own judgment on this. Someone like Santana, or Hunter, or even Blaine, could never understand the depths of his convictions, how he felt about soulmates and all the bullshit that entailed.

Santana's eyes turn red. "Don't give me that I-don't-care attitude, Smythe."

He gets up from the couch and walks over to the kitchen counter where the rest of the scotch gratefully waits—after another sip, the liquor burning a judgmental path down his throat, he's loathe to find Blaine's still there, on his skin, in his pores, the memories etched onto the insides of his eyelids. No one will convince him he hadn't done what he needed to, but his determination hadn't included going to see Blaine after that day on the beach, kissing him back when he'd resolved to push him away—a kiss near identical to their first, that gut-twisting sense of– of– _home_.

But Blaine had to learn to be without him, he had dreams of his own no one should ever feel the need to give up simply by the grace of a tattoo. And Blaine would, he'd give it all up in a heartbeat to be with him. Shouldn't a soulmate be the one person in your life who'd never ask for that kind of sacrifice?

It's a romantic notion, that Blaine came ready-made by the universe just for him, that someone somewhere tried to right his parents' mistake and created the perfect person for him to love, a true soulmate, a boy so in love with the idea of love it infected those around him. And for a time, those times they really talked and the rest of the world hardly mattered, Blaine had. That's why he kissed him back, that's why he came back for more, for that featherlight touch of something solely Blaine's.

But he stopped believing in romance a long time ago.

He never really put any stock in soulmates.

And he sure as shit won't put his heart on the line like that again—Blaine shouldn't put his heart on the line either, not in this strange and corrupt world he lives in, where people's lives are open to dissection, to scrutiny into the last detail, where the idea of love lived only on a screen. Blaine was naïve and innocent, and, for now, he should cherish that. The world would become a whole lot harder soon enough.

"He didn't belong here," he says solemnly, the liquid in the bottom of his glass swirling, turning, taunting him—he knows of other ways to chase away the taste of someone, that's why he has Adam on speed dial, but it all seems to disrespectful now. "Or with me."

"You're his soulmate."

His hand slams down on the marble countertop, his bones creaking. He's so sick of that word, he's so tired of an entire social system based on loving a single person the universe tells him to love. The universe has never told him anything he wanted to hear, never helped him out, so he doesn't owe it anything in return. If anything the universe owes Blaine another shot in this sadistic Russian roulette.

"I can't be who he wants me to be."

"No," –Santana shakes her head, tracking back towards the door, her disappointment in him palpable in every word– "you're afraid to be who he knows you to be."

He snatches the glass from where it rests against the marble, and swings it across the kitchen, where it shatters into pieces against the gray backsplash. Scotch drips down his fingers, onto the floor as he sinks down. A tear, maybe two, slips down his cheek. He's not a complete idiot, he realizes as well as anyone close to him his past experiences have made him bitter, closed him off to opportunities that could prove to be a whole lot healthier than keeping Adam handy to sleep with. But there's a secret he's kept his entire life intricately interlaced in all that he can't ignore, definitely not in relation to Blaine and everything he believes in.

Ironically the two people who know his secret would tell him to take a chance, to keep taking chances no matter how often you get beat down, to believe in a universe that's kind and giving, that love's out there for every single person, soulmate or not. His parents always did have a sickeningly sweet notion of romance.

His eyes wander over the barcode tattoo on the inside of his left wrist and he wonders if it would be a mistake, that same featherlight notion that drove him closer to Blaine in the first place.

What is he really risking seeing Blaine one last time?

.

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**tbc**

_._


	10. Chapter 9

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**(BURNING) ONE HELL OF A SOMETHING;**

CHAPTER 9

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**(day 30)**

For as long as he can remember, home had been a safe place. It never judged when he made a questionable decision, never doubted his sense of self, never even cared about who his soulmate would be. Home came ready-made as if he'd never been gone in the first place; coming home after long trips felt like coming back to a forever-place that he had missed, but never bore any mark of having missed him in return. That's what made it special. Like somehow a part of him had stayed behind and kept the bed warm, stored his scent, left everything neatly organized, the little things that made it his.

Yet, this time, it wasn't quite the same.

Everything stood where he'd left it; the pink and yellow post-its lining the mirror, reminders of things he needed to do before college; his box of tissues on the nightstand; his suitcases pulled down from the attic; his trophies. But the poster on the far wall, left of his bed... he wished someone would've had the common sense to take it down.

'THE WILD WEST' it read in a grand intimidating font, over a life-sized Jonathan, Sebastian's character.

He'd taken the poster down carefully, first the two thumbtacks at the bottom, then the two at the top with one hand keeping it in place, rolling it up into a tight cylinder before securing it with a rubber band. He tucked the poster away at the back of the top shelf of his wardrobe, where he hoped it would gather dust, be forgotten, until perhaps one day the future could be kinder to it.

He fails to fall into home the way he used to, the seams of his reentry visible to the naked eye; his room ever so slowly pouring into his suitcases, closets emptied, new supplies still in its wrapping or shopping bags; the near blanketing silences at the dinner table, his parents afraid to ask how he's feeling, how he's dealing, what exactly happened to cause such a sudden turn of events – he hadn't had the heart to tell them how Sebastian erased his name, tattooed something menial and demeaning over it without taking his feelings into account. All he feels and all he's felt over the past three weeks simply rattles through his head like an old rickety movie projector, a highlight reel of how his life turned upside down.

After all that happened, after all that didn't happen, all he could think to do was come home.

Now that he's home, he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Charlie called while you were out," his mom says, drawing him out of thoughts he shouldn't focus on too hard lest he lose himself in them. He's been home a little over a week and Sebastian has been on his mind constantly – for some reason or other he can't seem to shake their final goodbye.

"Oh?" he asked absentmindedly, pushing carrots around on his near empty plate.

"Just checking in on you."

"I'll call her back later."

"Are you sure?" Charlie had asked once he shared his decision with her, too afraid to tell his brother first, too hurt to be treated with anything but understanding. Sebastian's lips haunted his with the whisper of their impression, the tickle of his breath over his forehead, the fragile shelter his body had offered for only a few minutes. He didn't (still doesn't) understand it himself, how Sebastian could pull closer yet push him away at the same time, how _this want_ so clearly lived inside Sebastian too but he chose to ignore it. What for? Because he didn't believe in love? Because there were yet secrets between them? It was hard to imagine that was even possible.

"There's nothing here for me," he'd said, unable to meet Charlie's eyes, the _no one wants me here _choked back around a sense of duty and kindness he wouldn't let LA strip him of. Sebastian may not have wanted him there, but Coop and Charlie were family; and no matter what life threw at him, no matter what happened he knew that at the end of the day his family would always have his back. That's why he'd returned home in the first place.

"Son."

His dad this time, and he faces away in the hopes the word will remain stuck, that he doesn't have to cry the same tears he's cried, he's wanted to cry. But this is his mom and his dad, two people who have always been there for him, even when he didn't talk, even when he locked everything up inside and tried to deal with it on his own – he doesn't have to, he's never needed to, so why suffer in silence?

"He doesn't want me." His voice comes brittle and he shrinks smaller in his chair, his world caving in on itself once again – it was one thing to hear it from Sebastian, another to confess to the people who want nothing but the best for him, who have seen him hopeful with hearts in his eyes, who have heard him not only moon over Sebastian, The Hollywood Star, but his soulmate alike. It breaks his heart to think he might be breaking his parents'.

"Honey–"

"He tattooed something else over my name."

It bursts free nonetheless, pushes past lips that haven't forgotten Sebastian's, his hands trembling with the faint memory of his fingers entwined with his soulmate's, Sebastian's heart beating in the palm of his hand. How was that real? How could the universe, or Sebastian, grant him that perfect moment, and then take it away?

"He doesn't want it." His arms fold together across his chest in the hopes it'll hold him together, soothe some of the scrapes and bruises Hollywood left him with, and maybe help him get through this conversation without further harm done. "And he doesn't want me."

Without hesitation his parents get up out of their chairs and pull them up either side of him, his mother's hand in his hair while his dad's settles on his leg, and he tells them everything, spills all his secrets and Sebastian's in the safe space of home. He tells them about his first meeting with Sebastian, how things had seemed different right off bat, how he didn't have that magical moment people talk about when they meet their soulmate – instead they had a nice lunch together, they talked like two people interested in getting to know each other, and against all odds he'd found himself smitten with Sebastian there and then.

He tells them about Nick, and how tired that name now made him feel, about Sebastian's past love for a boy he hasn't even met, yet felt like a physical presence whenever they talked – he tells his parents how he suspects Sebastian hasn't gotten over his broken heart, despite Sebastian claiming otherwise, and that he'd stopped believing in the notion of soulmates. He cries that he doesn't understand how anyone can not believe, how Sebastian lived by his convictions and how crazy that drove him.

He tells them how they kissed, though leaves out the details, but how that kiss had transfigured into home, how Sebastian so very clearly felt something too, but ran scared in the face of it.

And he tells them about the day on the beach, when Sebastian spun his dreams into scraps lapping at the shore, stuck in the endless cycle of ebb and flow.

His secrets spill and a weight lifts off his shoulders, a weight he never had to carry on his own.

His mom kisses his hair and pulls him closer, but reserves her opinion, perhaps to share later with his dad, maybe later when his heart doesn't burn quite so hard and he could stand to hear it. He just needs them to be his mom and dad right now, nothing more, though certainly nothing less.

"He asked you to keep it quiet," his dad says, a sound in his voice both grave and angry, like any moment he could speed to Hollywood and tear Sebastian's house down with his bare hands.

He shakes his head, voice breaking, "Not Sebastian."

It's true the press had reported about him leaving for school, adding a statement from Sebastian saying he wouldn't stand in the way of Blaine's education – soulmates were still two individual people with lives of their own and he would never demand that Blaine stay in LA for him. He hadn't recognized Sebastian words. He heard Hunter's. Maybe even Santana's.

One day after his decision to come home, Hunter showed up on his doorstep. He hadn't started packing yet, but was staring at outgoing flights on his computer screen when Charlie led Hunter into his room.

"Mr Anderson," Hunter said, a clear and honest hesitation in the friendly smile that pulled around his mouth, informed by a careful tact he had no doubt prepared to use.

"What are you doing here?"

A few weeks ago he'd painted Hunter as a bad guy, as someone who had Sebastian's interests at heart and had no care for his, because he wasn't the client he tried to protect from scandal. He wondered if Hunter would leave him hurt too.

Hunter clutched a folder between both hands, lips set in a tight line as he drew in a breath, ready to break his heart all over again. "I'm here to remind you how important it is the press doesn't hear about this."

Shock didn't shake him quite as hard as he thought it would; maybe he was getting used to the way things were done in Hollywood. Hunter wanted him to keep quiet about what happened, wanted to avoid more headlines that painted Sebastian as the player who slept with whom he wanted, especially after the world so publicly met his soulmate. It wouldn't be the first time something like this ruined an actor's career.

"You came here as Sebastian's soulmate," Hunter added. "That's how the public perceives you now. You should leave his soulmate too."

He got up from his bed slowly; he'd barely recovered from his last night with Sebastian, from a goodbye in the form of a kiss, from the slow-release idea that he could choose his own happiness before anyone else's. But Hunter asked him to ignore the consequences of Sebastian's rejection, pretend they were still soulmates for the sake of public appearance and while he wished Sebastian no harm, nor his career any damage, how could he choose his happiness lying to the world? The world revolved around soulmates since the beginning of time. Did Sebastian's decision condemn him too?

"I can't pretend any of this didn't happen."

His feet begged him to run, out of that house, down to the beach, pick up all the grains of sand his life and Sebastian's touched and bottle them up, keep them safe from wind and rain and the corruption of Hollywood. Because he hung his hope on the secrecy Hunter demanded. Could it be that Sebastian simply needed time?

"Blaine–"

"It's fine." He closed his eyes, turning his back on Hunter. "I won't say anything."

Defeat filtered deeper than it had before, set stronger around his bones and nearly dragged him down to his knees. What if this meant giving up on love altogether? What if this decision sealed his fate with Sebastian and anyone else he might meet? Was falling in love with someone else even an option anymore?

"For what it's worth," Hunter said, "this isn't how I hoped it would play out. I really thought–"

"I was the genuine article?" he asked, using some of the first words Hunter spoke to him against him – he understood then why Hunter had been relieved to find him, after managing Sebastian's affairs with other boys, after trying to keep the press out of Sebastian's personal life for so long. Hunter hoped all the secrecy would end.

"You are. No doubt about that."

He turned to face Hunter. If he truly believed that, did that mean Hunter worked to convince Sebastian how wrong he was? Did that mean Santana didn't approve either? Santana had a soulmate she would marry soon, and, glancing down at the inside of Hunter's wrist, a name rested there too. He believed Hunter and Santana brought him here for appearance's sake, that all this was an elaborate stage play meant to appease a hungering crowd. Was he wrong? Did Santana and Hunter believe in him?

"I guess I underestimated Sebastian's stubbornness. If that's all it is."

Hunter's words, as well as his eyes, pleaded for an explanation, one he didn't have. He still wonders if stubbornness is all it is, if Sebastian's simply blind to what could be out there for him, or if it runs deeper, if there's yet another secret he hadn't managed to unravel. He suspects the latter. But it's hard to keep track.

"What did your parents say?" Tina asks, plopping down on her bed next to him, while he rifles through Netflix to find a show they hadn't binged yet. Despite the intermittent sensation that home wasn't quite the home he'd left he couldn't deny this is where he was meant to be; with his friends, who provided one distraction after the other; with his family, who never demanded what he couldn't give them; at the gym, where he could work himself into a sweat and beat at a punching bag until the only thing he felt were his knuckles taped up firmly inside his boxing gloves.

Home might feel strange for a while. But he needed it.

"Nothing much." He shrugs. "I didn't really want them to say anything."

"What do you mean?"

He sits up on the bed, Tina tucking in close. "Ever since my birthday everyone keeps saying the same thing. _Everything will fall into place_. _Things will get better_. _Be patient_."

"You can't give up hope, Blaine."

He finds Tina's eyes, and smiles, but knows deep down he's holding too much hope for the future; Sebastian wanted him to break free, maybe even give up, but all he can think about is the possibility of Sebastian changing his mind. Even though a part of him considers the worst-case scenario: maybe Sebastian had meant every word, maybe he'd been conscious of every single one of his actions.

Maybe Sebastian would never come find him again, despite all the times he had in LA.

He can't count all the times they said goodbye; at the beach, at Sebastian's house after that wonderful kiss, at Cooper and Charlie's place. The day he left for home Sebastian had showed up again, quite unexpectedly; he hadn't counted on seeing him again so soon, prepared to let his broken heart gather dust too until the future chose to catch up.

He'd been on the phone with Tina, making sure she knew when he'd land and when his parents would leave for Columbus to pick him up. He can't remember what they'd been talking about when he said, "Sebastian's more likely to have his own name tattooed on his arm", and a voice sounded from the doorway.

"Ouch."

Sebastian's voice.

He whirled around and nearly dropped his phone, but still managed a quick, "Tay, I have to go," before he lost his focus and his best friend's voice died out. What was Sebastian doing there? Had someone told him when he'd be flying out? What else was there left to say?

"I'm sorry," he says, as if the words themselves could negate all the causal effects between all the things they'd ever said to each other. What he wouldn't give to start over with all the knowledge he possessed; he would've approached Sebastian a different way, he'd have been more wary, less naïve, overall less taken with all the potential for wonderment surrounding him. Then again, would it have been worth it if that different way hadn't been authentic?

"Don't be," –an almost painful smile pulled at Sebastian's lips,– "I deserved that."

"What are you doing there?" he asked, because he thought they'd said everything that needed to be said, they'd said their goodbyes, with a kiss, with a hug, with no words other than _there's no hope for us_. Sebastian didn't have the answers he was looking for. And he grew tired of digging without result. "Hunter already told me not to talk to the press."

"I didn't ask him to do that." Sebastian sighed. "You have every right to–"

It should've been nice to know that despite everything Sebastian cared, that he realized he'd wronged him in the worst possible way, but the thought didn't help keep the pain at bay. Because Sebastian said what he needed to say, yet he came back, for a second time now, and for what? To see him off? To make sure he'd made the right choice? Why did Sebastian keep demanding this pain?

"Sebastian," –a thought occurred then, one that had gently brewed in the recesses of a mind rife with love and dreams and fantasy– "Are you happy?"

"Happy?" Sebastian frowned, the word strange, foreign, like he once similarly couldn't decipher his brother's Great Soulmate Mystery. It wasn't a difficult question, but an enormously big one, one not usually answered with a few concise words. Let alone in the space between them. Happiness wasn't something people considered until it disappeared, flitted from your life like snow gave way to the sun. He wondered if for all his personal choices after his break-up with Nick, Sebastian still took regular stock of his life.

"With your life here."

Sebastian rolled a single shoulder, as if to shrug an invisible jacket into place, shake off a sudden discomfort his question made him face, a great and terrible thing. "Why would you ask me that?"

His body completed the half-turn it started half a minute before, Sebastian's vulnerabilities curiosities he never took for granted, but drew him closer like magnets, even though they weren't entirely the opposites of his; it's quite possible it's their similarities in dealing with personal feelings that kept him picking at those wounds. "You don't seem very happy."

Sebastian struggled, that much he'd ascertained. Whether that struggle stemmed from the weight of his secrets, his own pursuit of happiness, or his own broken heart, he could only guess at.

"I don't see–" Sebastian cast down his eyes, shuffled a step back as he slipped his hands into his pockets, doing everything in his power to escape invisible chains. He wanted to pull closer, undo those shackles with his bare hands, but he lacked the power to do so. It was a power Sebastian's only.

"You should've seen him, Tina," he says, facing his best friend, the memory so clear in his mind he can still feel his feet planted on the cool floorboards, his breath in and out of his lungs like hot smoke, heart hammering. "It's like I threw him in the deep end of the pool and he forgot how to swim. He wasn't Sebastian anymore."

And yet he's come to believe it's exactly that Sebastian, that boy, he should get to know, who he caught glimpses of in those sparse conversations they shared, whose feelings were real, the Sebastian who kissed him back and tasted like home. The only difference being Sebastian's lips had been missing and searching for his all along.

"And then Coop kicked him out." He turns on his back, unable to stifle a smile, the way Cooper had taken charge a sight unseen for many years. In so many ways he never did give him enough credit, his big brother.

Sebastian had left without another word, just cast a single glance at him, green eyes almost fearful, before walking out of his life completely. It's the last he'd seen from Sebastian. It's the last he'd heard. For almost a week now. He can't pretend he hasn't spent a few hours every day thinking about Sebastian, trying to imagine what he could be doing, who he could be with, if he was vigorously preparing for shooting that romantic comedy he'd told him about over their first meal together. He wonders if Sebastian's memories of him will gather dust too and will soon be forgotten, or if they'll remain etched deep in his skin the way his will. A few times over the past week he'd lain awake at night, terrified that of the two of them, Sebastian had already moved on.

His last night in LA he hadn't slept at all. He'd drenched the pillow with his tears, held back tears as he'd bid his brother, Charlie and his unborn niece or nephew goodbye, and spent a tumultuous flight in and out of dreamless sleep.

"You don't think he's happy?" Tina asks, somehow timing all her questions just so to pull him back from the darkest kinds of thoughts. He would have already gotten lost in them, if it weren't for his friends.

"I think _he thinks_ he's happy."

It's easy to forego happiness, to accept it as a default status and not question it, even when you feel it slipping away. Happiness is often a thing taken for granted, so he wonders: was Sebastian happy in LA when he clearly missed Broadway? Did he accept his choices as his own and stand by them? Had he not decided he didn't deserve love prematurely? For someone professing clear-cut choices for his mental health, Sebastian still had a lot of things to figure out.

"Are you happy, Bling?"

"I don't know." He blinks a few times, taking stock of his own battle scars. There's no doubt he made the right decision coming home. He hasn't breathed this easy for a while now and he's missed everything about home; the quiet and calm rhythm, his steady routine, the silences only small towns afforded. But is he happy?

"Sometimes I feel like I'm not supposed to be."

He remembers a conversation he had with his brother not too long ago, a conversation mirrored in one he had with Marley at the mall a few days ago; she worried that he'd be upset with her because she didn't choose her soulmate, that he'd think she chose wrong, especially because Ryder actually wanted to be with her. Truth is he fell silent around her because he worried about saying the wrong thing, he worried that his lack of understanding would be misconstrued, because he couldn't wrap his mind around it. Marley chose Jake over her soulmate.

Then he remembered he's never been in love before.

So he'd kept quiet.

"I followed my heart," Marley had said, barely able to look him in the eye over her pink milkshake.

"How do you know what it's saying?"

An easy question.

But an enormously big one.

"Jake's there for me when I need him," Marley said, her beautiful eyes wide and shining along with the rest of her features; it was the face of a girl head over heels in love. And he envied her. "He makes me laugh, I can tell him everything, he's confident, and he makes me more confident. That's the kind of person I need to be with."

Both Cooper and Marley had ended up saying the same thing, which only confused him more. Charlie and Cooper were soulmates, Marley and Jake were not, yet they needed their significant other for the same reasons. Cooper made Charlie softer, coaxed out a lot of the love and affection she usually kept hidden; in turn, Charlie believed in Cooper in ways his brother often didn't believe in himself. They complemented each other.

But he can't for the life of him figure out what he needs. Someone to believe in him, definitely, someone who believes in love, absolutely, someone who wouldn't stifle his dreams or ask him to sacrifice. Someone to look past his flaws.

It's truly frightening how few of those apply to Sebastian. Or how many.

Mostly he was just scared.

"He gave up my name, Tee," he says, lying down on his side to face his best friend.

"That was four years ago." Tina softly strokes the inside of his left wrist where it rests between their heads. It seems so long ago that they were eagerly awaiting the arrival of his soulmark, two kids in love with the idea of love. "Maybe he needs to get used to idea there's someone out there for him."

Sebastian should have known that all along, he thinks, but he's too quickly reminded Hollywood is a world of its own, with its own rules and views on soulmarks. If he'd grown up in that world, who knows how he might feel about soulmates.

"I'm excited to head to college," he says, ready to change the topic of their conversation.

"We're going to have so much fun." Tina snuggles closer into his arms. "You won't have time to think about anything else."

He buries a smile in Tina's hair, confident that no matter what the future brings he'll have her by his side. He'll have his parents, and his brother, and he'll make new friends who might change his perspective. He'll be learning new things at his college of choice and his memories of Sebastian will gather dust, they'll be shelved until a time they're no longer painful to the touch.

He has to choose his own happiness, after all. Even his brother ended up telling him that.

"Hey, kiddo." Cooper had wandered into his room while he finished packing. "You all set?"

"Getting there."

"You know you're free to stay." Cooper lingered in the doorway, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the frame. "Or visit, whenever you want. It's been nice, having you here."

Of all the things he'd been forced to face about himself and his beliefs, his relationship with his brother hadn't been strained. When he came there he thought it'd be a test, living cooped up with a brother who he'd always had a difficult relationship with. He was happy to have been proven wrong. He'd witnessed new sides of his brother, some of the insecurities they're both so adept at hiding, and his life here with Charlie. His brother was happy.

"Thanks, Coop," he said, toying with the thought that his brother was home too, in a way. But he missed his sweaters and his room, his mom's hot chocolate and the Lima Bean. He missed his friends or anything more familiar. "I just have to be home for a while."

Cooper nodded, taking a few steps back. "I understand."

"Coop– for what it's worth," he called, and hoped to still catch his brother in the same mood. There was something he'd been meaning to say since he got there but never go the chance to. Now that he was leaving, he wanted to share it. "I think you're going to be a great dad."

"Yeah?"

He drew closer to Cooper, unaccustomed still to see his brother doubt himself. "Of course you are."

"Because, I gotta tell you–" Cooper crossed his arms over his chest, tears making up the uncertainty in his eyes. "I'm terrified I'm going to mess up. I'm not like you, or dad. I've never had to be responsible for someone else. I make a living doing commercials, for God's sake."

He cupped one of Cooper's elbows. "You make a living doing what you love, Coop," he said, his heart not unscathed by his brother's confession – he couldn't say why talking to his brother was easier now, but he was beyond grateful for it. "That's worth more than any job. It's inspiring."

Cooper caught his eyes, a big question reflected in blue eyes, nothing like his.

"You know mom and dad don't really want me to be a teacher," he said, "but it's what I want. And I'm doing it because of you. Because my big brother followed his dreams too."

Before the words even had time to sink in Cooper pulled him closer, wound his arms around him and hugged him as close as he possibly could. "I'm gonna miss you, squirt," Cooper breathed, running a hand up and down his back.

He closed his eyes and laughed, "Please, stop calling me that," but basked in the odd unfamiliarity of hugging his own brother. It probably wouldn't kill him to visit more often.

"Coop–" he said, still wrapped up tight in his brother's arms. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"

Cooper slapped his back. "Gotta do you, little brother."

He laughed. Cooper always did have a way of simplifying the obvious.

.

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tbc

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	11. INTERLUDE II

author's notes: another chapter from Sebastian's POV :)

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**(BURNING) ONE HELL OF A SOMETHING;**

INTERLUDE II

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**(day 1665)**

Turns out the total sum of his risk, of seeing Blaine again, proves his complete undoing.

_Are you happy?_ the beautifully naïve boy had asked not a week ago and for five days straight that phrase haunted his every waking moment—what was it about him that Blaine read so easily? Had he unwittingly showed Blaine secrets he didn't even know he had? No one ever asks, they all assumed his fame and fortune guaranteed the foregone conclusion and maybe, somehow, he'd done the same. His days on set he's certain he's exactly where he needs to be, whether he's studying his lines in his trailer or giving it his all in front of a camera, but all the moments in between, when the spotlights dim and the attention fades and he tries to fill his loneliest moments with his own company... he fails. So he's tried to fill those moments with Biff McIntosh and Elliott 'Starchild' Gilbert, most recently with Adam Crawford, and while that worked, while their bodies and even the quiet conversations they shared helped ease the bite of loneliness, it never healed the wounds.

Blaine was right. He's not happy.

He's not sure he has been at any moment over the past four years. Turning eighteen wasn't an exciting rite of passage, not something he had ever looked forward to, especially not after he fell in love with Nick. But had it been love? Had Nick left behind the distinct impression of home, the way that Blaine's innocent lips had done twice now? Or had he made that up in the wake of his heartbreak, of his disillusionment, of the sting of a fresh tattoo that stamped him like any other fool on this planet? They had some good times, he'd spelled 'I love you' in all the spaces their lips and bodies connected more times and ways than he could count, and when he closed his eyes, if he stared into Nick's long enough, he accepted it; he'd changed his mind on the notion of love in all the days he spent with Nick, laughing, dancing, _loving_. Maybe it was out there for him after all.

But ever since that time, the days following Nick's eighteenth birthday—he'd made up his mind. Nick chose Jeff, and why wouldn't he? Why would he ignore the name permanently etched in his skin? Why would he sacrifice true love for the solid thing they'd been building for three years?

In some world that must've made sense.

So he'd made up his mind. No one would find him, no one would set his world right, no soulmate, fake or otherwise, and he sure as hell wouldn't fall in love. Not again. If he'd ever really had in the first place.

When Santana first told him about Blaine, resident of Lima, Ohio, the name hadn't registered—others had gone before him, dozens if not hundreds of fans who had staked their claim, some of them going to great lengths to prove it, each of them dispelled by the cunning and guile of his publicist. Some were more cunning than others; there'd been this one kid back in Texas who'd gotten a real tattoo and waited for it to heal, slowly dispersed the information from one local newspaper to the other until the heavy hitters got hold of the story—the whole ordeal went on for months, the eighteen-year old (Burt? Dirk?) featured on talk shows and giving away interviews left and right, until Hunter, his new publicist, tracked down the tattoo artist.

His relief hadn't so much as come as a shock than a peculiarly distinct disinterest. He knew better, after all.

Once it had become clear that Blaine was in fact the real deal, didn't seem to have any interest in his fame, his fortune, or getting his fifteen minutes, his world slowly started fraying at the seams. The ground beneath his feet had grown unsteady and fragile, and felt ready to cave in at any moment. That feeling persisted throughout the past three weeks, through their long lunches, their lengthy conversations that came unforced, through their fight on the beach where he'd hoped to push Blaine away, even after Blaine left for home, like he'd believed he wanted. He doesn't know why, why Blaine challenges everything he believes in, everything about this whole soulmate-thing he chose to ignore, everything he—

"Mom?" he stutters over the line, legs pulled up to his chest to make himself as small as possible, still in the exact same spot on the floor where he sank down an hour ago, when Adam, too, had left him with a few things to think about. He hasn't slept much this past week; both Nick and Blaine haunted his dreams, Nick's lips cold while Blaine's beckoned him closer, a pull below his sternum that urged him nearer, closer, more intimately wanton for Blaine's gorgeous smile. He tossed and turned and called out names he hadn't in years, longed for his mother's advice while he feared it at the same time. Because his mother made up her mind when she was exactly his age—and her convictions hadn't waned since.

Sometimes he envied her the strength of those beliefs.

Other times he hated her for condemning his.

"Sebastian?" His mother's voice soothes the way it usually does, a song in the distance spanning his own naïve childhood and the forced reprisal of adulthood. When he was younger his mom would sing to him whenever he fell ill, sit by his bedside sketching, running her fingers to his hair every so often. He misses that more than he's willing to say. "What's wrong?"

His mom was in Paris now, celebrating twenty-six years of marriage.

He covers a hand over his eyes to shut it all out; his name on Blaine's skin, the taste of Blaine's on his, all his mistakes and the ones he's yet to make–he can't see his path anymore, can't tell up from down, right from wrong. Where does he go from here? Does he go back to work like Blaine never existed at all? That hardly seemed possible, with Blaine so clearly imprinted over all his secrets.

"I fucked up." His voice breaks in all the places Blaine touched, whether he was conscious of it or not, that same question – _Are you happy?_ – burning holes through his diaphragm. Tears swell behind his eyes at the uncontainable painful weight on his chest, ever heavier the longer he goes without admitting how out of control everything has gotten. "I messed up so bad."

"It's Blaine, isn't it?" his mom asks softly, her voice piercing right down to the truth of things—Blaine has become everything, he's become too much, his fears personified, his admiration won, his respect earned, and perhaps the most fearful thing of all: hope that things might change. Because who has he fooled? Certainly not Adam or Blaine. At the end of the day he's sure he wants what everyone else wants. Someone to share a life with. Whether that be a soulmate, or a best friend, or someone who simply gets him through and through.

For some people their soulmate is all those things. Lucky bastards.

"He asked if I was happy. And I–" He pulls his legs tighter into his chest, pushing fingers back against his eyes even though tears stream down his face all the same, sobs ripping through his chest. "And then Adam, he–"

Somehow, Adam had found him in the midst of all of this, all his unhappiness, all the out-of-control-ness his life had ineffably become since his move to Hollywood, and Adam had held him together through all of it. His relationship with Biff had been destroyed by the media, his private life with Elliott had been smeared over the front page of every tabloid in town, and after that ended he'd resigned never to date again—love wasn't for him, nor was this soulmate thing, so dating might as well get scratched off the menu too.

Then came Adam. He'd been working as his stylist for a few months before they got to talking, and if anyone were to ask he wouldn't be able to say who broke the ice—for a little over a year now Adam has simply been there. And yes, some of their meetings included nothing more than getting each other off – in bed, in the shower, in the pool, on the couch with Thandie watching – but Adam never demanded things. Nick needed someone to tie him over until his eighteenth birthday, Biff wanted secrecy, Elliott meant to share his spotlight. Adam never expected anything more than what he gave, and never gave more than what he wanted—they talked and joked around, watched movies at the house, cooked meals together. They always had a good time.

He wasn't in love with Adam, but that was okay. Adam wasn't in love with him either. In Adam's mind they were two guys sharing time until one of their soulmates showed up; he didn't think Adam needed to know he wasn't expecting his to show up.

Maybe that meant he shouldn't have called Adam after Blaine came into his life. He couldn't help it though. Blaine left and all of a sudden a hole fell into his life, something precious chased away in the culmination of all the choices that led him there; the rotten truth of his parents' love spun throughout his childhood and Broadway career, the stark realization that their choices sealed his fate, his hope lost in a broken heart that might still cut anyone who got to close to pieces. Was that his terrible truth now? Has he become toxic to people like Blaine, who believed in love above everything else?

"I didn't think I'd hear from you again," Adam said a few hours ago, retracing his own past footsteps into the living room. The assumption had hit him much harder than Adam probably intended, the words echoing a question he'd been desperate to forget when he texted Adam to drop by.

Instead of their usual business he'd stuttered, "What do you mean? We– We're friends, right?" in between a few irregular heartbeats, his knees left a little weak in the wake of what must've kept Adam away for the past three weeks. No need for a lover when the love of your waking moments walks into your life. He, of course, hadn't thought of it that way; Adam was a friend, and why not call on a friend when his world felt like it could fall the pieces any moment?

"Of course we are, darling," Adam had answered, but it was no use; he'd already dispelled one man's romantic notions earlier that week and he wasn't about to tell Adam what had happened, to argue about values and morals and beliefs again. He just needed someone to listen and understand.

So he'd called his mom.

"If you feel something for this boy," his mom says, and he can guess what's coming—the same advice that went along with Nick and Biff and Elliott, how no feeling can ever be too small if it's there, nothing should be ignored when it comes to love, and above all, knowing himself would make all the difference in a relationship. Knowing himself didn't matter with Nick, it weren't his choices that drove them apart, nor did they in any of his other relationships—Biff couldn't take the exposure, Elliott couldn't do long-distance when he filmed out of town.

"Something real,"

How does anyone know it's real? Was it real when the outside world couldn't touch what he had with Nick? Was it real when Biff accepted who he was and decided to give their relationship a try? Or was love only ever real when it hurt?

"Even if it's the smallest thing–"

A sob wrenches at the back of his throat and stays there, air trapped in his lungs as he recalls drawing closer to Blaine, his breath tickling along his mouth, their fingers intertwining, the frantic rhythm of his heart drumming identically in Blaine's chest—and then all of Blaine Anderson's sweet and smooth edges, his fingers through his hair, the oddest sense of—

How could home ever be considered a small thing?

"You owe it to yourself to pursue it."

"And what do I say to him?" He sniffles, running a hand back and forth through his hair, tears dripping from his chin into his shirt. Shame trips along his shoulder blades, along with guilt over what he's put Blaine through—their big small thing extinguished before it ever started. "That I–"

He swallows back the truth as if he might choke on it.

"You could try the truth."

"The truth?" he calls, his voice echoing all through the empty house. How can his mother even entertain that thought? Surely she remembers the six months following his break-up with Nick he stopped speaking to her or his dad. It felt like an eternity and still wasn't enough; deep down in the darkest center of his heart he hated his parents for the choice they made. A choice they never truly considered the consequences of. "That I'm an abomination?"

"He woke up with your name on his wrist, baby," his mom argues. "Your name. It's real, and you deserve this. Just as much as anyone else in the world."

He often wished his mother's undying hope lived inside him too. Sadly, it does not.

"It's too late, mom. He's gone."

"Darling, it's never too late."

If he closes his eyes, when he tries hard enough, he can picture his mom by his side right there in the hallway, one hand drawing through his hair while the other occupied itself with a random sketch. He loves his mom and his dad, he truly does, but sometimes he hates them too. What good would chasing after Blaine do now? Even if he didn't have to head to Boston for a new movie, he burnt his bridges that day on the beach. He messed everything up, told too many lies, kept too many secrets.

Blaine would never forgive him for what he said.

He's even less likely to forgive him for the truth.

.

.

tbc

.


End file.
